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caesarinsalata · 4 months

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Intermission: Part 2

Including the rare occurrence of DIGITAL visual aid 😄

INTERMISSION

Part 2

A Year into Rehab

“Have you seen Ed, Al? He's due for an appointment.”

“Um, no actually…” Alphonse thought for a moment. “I haven't been able to get the time to check on him. I'm sorry, I've been busy.”

Winry shook her head. “Don't worry. I'll find him. He's probably in the Library or something. I don't expect I'll find him in his bed.”

Al gently smiled. “Let me know, when you find him, if he's okay.”

“I'm sure he's fine, Al. Don't worry too much.” She patted his shoulder before walking down the hallway to search the Palace for Edward.

Her first thought was to look in the Library. That boy wouldn't be able to stay in his room and rest. He's bound to be busying himself with research of some kind. Keeping Ed from analyzing or learning things was like pulling teeth. Hopefully he wasn't researching how to take her handy work apart. He'd just end up ruining it.

Coming to the doorway of the Library, she pushed the curtain open and looked around. Sure enough, there was someone with golden, blonde hair who had now styled it into a braid that reached his shoulders. He was leaning to one side, with his cheek resting on his hand, sitting at the table positioned in the middle of the room. He was facing away from the doorway, so he wouldn't know if anyone was coming in.

“How did I know you'd be in here…” She shifted the tool box on her shoulder and walked up behind him.

He didn't respond.

“Ed?”

She moved around him and leaned down to see that he was sound asleep. A scoff came out of her as she put her tool box down on a chair at the table. Ed softly snored as Winry looked at what he was doing. She couldn't read a lick of it, but it had diagrams of prosthetics. Arms, legs, hands, feet. So he was looking into her work. She'd consider it endearing if she didn't know he was going to use that knowledge to mess with it when she wasn't around. Glancing back at Ed, his head was going to fall off his hand if she didn't wake him up.

“Ed.” Winry thought about it, then decided to gently slide Ed's hands out from under his head. He's gonna hate her for this, but it was going to be so funny. His head smacked into the book under his elbow.

“AGH!” His head shot back, covering his forehead with his hands. “What the hell-” Blinking through the pain, he spotted her. “Winry?!”

“How was your nap?”

Still rubbing his forehead, he closed the books and shoved them aside. “Fine, until you showed up…” Shifting in his chair. “What do you want anyway?”

“Hello to you too, Ed.” Lifting the tool box onto the table and placing her hands on her hips. “You keep forgetting to show up for adjustments.”

Ed leans back in his chair and groans. “It's getting stiff. I can't go down the stairs. And I'm not asking Al to carry me.” Crossing his arms, he extends the leg out from under the table at her. It made a creak and Winry visibly winced. He attempted to bend it at the knee, but it protested angrily.

“You haven't been oiling the joints have you?” Putting her head in her hand, disappointed in his carelessness.

“I thought that was Al's job?”

“I can't trust you to do anything…”

“Wha- Hey! I've been moving and resting appropriately, just like you and Granny wanted me too. Don't I get some credit for that?”

Winry had pulled up a chair and rested his leg on her thigh while he talked at her. “Your physical therapy suffers if you don't oil it. It can mess with your stance and hurt your hip if it's stiff.” Yanking tools out of her box, she removed the outer casing of his knee first, lubricating the joint before it was damaged by continued grinding.

“Yeah, yeah…” He feigned disinterest while he watched her fiddle with the inner workings of his leg.

“So…” Winry didn't look at him, she was too busy checking the length of both legs to see if he needed it adjusted yet. “I see you've been taking an interest in my work.” Finally glancing up at him.

He blinked, confused for a second, then seemed to put the pieces together. “Oh, yeah…right…” He glanced over at the books. “I was just curious if we had any books about these, since they're so unheard of here.”

Winry couldn't help but smile. Ed said thank you and studied her interests in his own way. He was hard to read sometimes, but at others, he was plain and simple. “So you'll happily look into what I do, but you won't take care of it? Am I hearing this right?” Resealing his knee cap.

Ed clicked his tongue and pouted.

“How long have you been sitting in here?” She replaced her tools in the box, closing it after. Letting Ed take his leg from her so he could bend it in and out. Still looking at it with amazement as he wiggles the toes.

“Not sure…” Ed stood up, pushing the chair out and grabbed the stack of books he had. “I've been losing time lately. I'm not even sure it's even still daylight outside.” Turning away and looking at the spines of the books to double check where he got them from. His walking wasn't terrible after a year into therapy, but he occasionally leaned too far to one side and upset his balance enough to almost lose his footing.

Winry didn't like the sound of that. “Is that normal?”

Ed glanced back while he was pushing a book onto a shelf. “Well…not particularly,” Thinking about it a bit more. “It has been happening a lot more often lately. Al told me I've been sleeping a lot.”

“Do you know why?”

Ed just shrugs, coming back over to sit back down. “Trauma can do a lot to a person. Or maybe it's due to expending all my energy walking around in circles for hours with nothing to do. They won't let me do anything, not to mention Al, no matter how low maintenance it is.” Shooting his arms into the air. “I could just use alchemy! I'm so bored!” He just slouches in his seat.

“Is the library not keeping you enough company?”

“One can only reread the same books he's read for years so many times.”

“Hmm, you haven't read the ones on the higher shelves yet?”

Edward challenges her with a dark glare. “Watch it…” Trying to telepathically remind her ‘We're literally the same height.’

Winry just smiles. “What? What did I say?”

Ed sat up and braced his hands on the edge of the table, steaming. “You know full well what you were insinuating!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Mimicking him a bit with her response. Winry thought about something for a moment. If Ed was bored because no one would let him do anything productive and Al was too busy doing a two man job already, Winry could assist Ed, so he feels useful again as well as getting him up and moving; She liked this idea.

“Hey, Ed.”

“Yeah?” Taken back by her outlandish response to their usual banter, he relaxed and raised an eyebrow at her. Confused as to what gave her pause.

“How about we do some work together?”

“Huh?”

“Al's too busy to watch you and the adults won't let you help, so how about we do what we can together? You can work on your therapy and I can be there to catch you.”

Ed just blinked, wondering where this drive came from. “Uh, why?” It's not like he didn't want to do his part of the work, he's the most selfless person in this palace, save for Al, of course, but he didn't want to rope Winry into this. She wasn't a slave, she was virtually just a regular resident here. She had no reason to lower herself to doing work for the palace. But he sensed it obviously wasn't for the Palace’s sake. “Where is this coming from?”

“Just get up!” Winry hopped out of her seat and yanked Ed out of his. He almost fell flat on his face as he regained his footing and yanked his hand from her. She stopped and looked back, confused.

“You're not contractually obligated to maintain this palace. I'm not letting you take on Al and my responsibility.” He appeared to be protective, more so than angry about it.

“I'm no stranger to physical labor, Ed.” Winry rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand again. “Stop thinking about the technicalities of it all and let's get you up and outside or at least moving instead of holding yourself up in a dusty library.”

Ed frowned while his arm felt like it was being pulled out of socket until he was able to match her pace. He still didn't like this idea, but at least it got him out of doing nothing.

#fma #fmab #my doodles #fullmetal alchemist #edward elric #doodles #my art #freckles #drawing prompt #fma art #fma fanart #winry rockbell #xerxes au #xerxes #fmab art #fmab fanart #fullmetal alchemist fanart #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #digital art

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starrypawz · 5 months

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So uh personal update, on Gender (TM) as I don't think I've talked about this that much but like decisions are being made and this is like... a journey

So basically in 2018 I refereed myself to a NHS GIC as it was like 'Oh boy I am getting the genders and maybe enough of a case I should consider like... doing something' and at the time I had like some vague 'I might be transmasc' feelings and it was like 'I might want top surgery' so like I did that

And then time passes and I sort of forgot about it and then as people know the GIC system is super backed up anyway so like help.

And it was like four years later (2022) I had a message like 'Oh hey your first appointment is coming up now' and I had like... a debate about what I should do like if I even needed to go and was advised like 'at least attend your first appointment' and then during that one it was like 'Oh we can put you forward for some gender based talking therapy at least' and that seemed like a good idea

And then yeah during this time (2018-2022) I've like tried things, like I've had a binder, I went through that 'trying to dress more masc' phase, got a trans masc haircut (tm), covid happened and I came out the other side a goth weirdo, I find I'm actually more happy being a weirdo goth who sometimes wears skirts and dresses and I think I'm agender actually.

(Also like oh boy I'm not really living in circumstances where like doing that like typical 'get on hrt and transition' thing is going to work but I did havew to check in with myself to make sure that my decisions to not medically do anything wasn't just me wussing out but it's not it's just not quite the right step)

(And then during this time it's like 'lol my gender basically is like a bag of potatoes your forgot in the back of the cupboard i don't even know what it is right now)

And then more time passes and then like earlier this year it's like 'Oh hey you can start that now' and I have a therapy intake appointment and THEN it's like the clinician I'm seeing is like 'Oh I'm leaving the service actually but I'll do your initial intake and hand that over'

THEN

And now I can't remember how things went but it's like either I had my first appointment with the clinician, started adhd meds and then we had to have an appointment a month later or i started meds, had the appointment then a month break either way there was a delay to starting the therapy that during that time I started my ADHD medication and just as you know it basically fixed my brain somewhat and I can like... actually think and shit

But yeah basically turns out I actually didn't need to talk about my gender as much as I thought, It also turned out that a lot of the like weird disassociated feelings I've had going on are like 'that's the unmedicated adhd talking' (Not all of it but yeah a lot of it was like 'neurodivergent brain struggling to cope) and yeah I've like come to the conclusion that at least at this point I don't really feel that I actually need the 'medical' interventions (like hrt and or top surgery) like I've basically worked out where I am and that yeah actually I'm good thanks (Like tbh I've never had like very intense dysphoria so like dysphoria was not a useful metric for working out my gender, it's never really been physical features of mine causing distress it's more the social/metal side of things)

And yeah then a few weeks back it was like 'Oh here's your second appointment at the end of December' and it's like 'what the heck do I do now? I'm not planning to medically transition'

And yeah I had a therapy session today and basically my current plan is

I will attend my second assessment, it's apparently a good idea to do that as it means I have another chance to talk things over with someone, also it turns out you can be discharged from the GIC and then come back which is probably a good thing to have in my pocket should like circumstances change again like have a paper trail and like just have an official closure rather than just me leaving and potentially having to like start from square one again.

Also I'm meant to have two more therapy sessions in January so like it's probably a good idea to attend at least one of those so yet again it's like can close some stuff out.

So like I'm shuffling myself out but doing so in the like sensible official way. And yeah it has been a whole thing grappling with like if I'm wasting time/space since I know so many other people are behind me waiting to get in and uh... there's probably quite a few people ahead of me who didn't make it so like I am trying to exit the service as quickly as I can it's just... I'm going at the speed of red tape here.

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harmonymurphy · 1 year

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It's been way too long since I came here to vent, so here goes. Discussion of intrusive suicidal thoughts and ideation below. Usual disclaimer that... well, I'm not exactly okay, but I'm not in any danger right now. (Not really any point in saying "don't worry about me" since nobody does.)

So I know I've mentioned my evil abusive sociopathic half-brother multiple times. Other than my father's funeral, I haven't seen him since the year 2000. Well, his wife died last year and my blood siblings attended her funeral. They said he seemed happy to see them and had expressed interest in not just visiting, but starting to come to my sister's house regularly.

I almost had a panic attack when I heard that. I did have a panic attack over it the next morning. And Mom's nagging had led to me taking my last Klonopin a few months earlier, so all I could do was lay down in my bed and wheeze and hyperventilate and all that while I tried to focus on my breathing and calm down. No matter how much I hate the way Klonopin makes me feel, panic attacks are much worse.

I don't know why I want to avoid seeing that bastard again so badly. My brother and sister were there with me, went through the same kinds of abuse, some of it was worse for them, but they didn't take it personally the way I did. Maybe it has something to do with my disability, how helpless I felt, the fact that he was physically abusing me almost daily before I was officially declared cancer-free, I don't know. But I hate him. I hate him in a way I've never hated anyone or anything else. I don't feel comfortable typing the next sentences I had planned, because that was about to get DARK. Mom would say "You don't hate your brother, you just hate what he did," but no. I. HATE. HIM.

After having the panic attack, I felt calmer. I found myself thinking that there was no way I wanted to ever see him again, but the alternative was staying locked in my room for who knows how long every time he comes over. I did that once and made it all day without a bathroom break, but I don't want that to be a regular part of my life. And I can't drive and I have nobody who could take me away while he visits. Even the one person I thought I could rely on wants to see him again and doesn't have time for me anyway. So I realized my life was on track to be unbearable.

And then I looked at the big stack of Banker's Boxes full of books in my closet and thought, "I need to get rid of those before I kill myself or my sister will have to move them all by herself." And I was terrified of how casually I had thought it. Part of me had just accepted that I was going to kill myself so I wouldn't have to see that bastard again.

And it just kept happening. I kept casually reflecting on things I needed to do before I killed myself so I wouldn't leave a huge mess for my sister to deal with, and I never actually wanted to die but the intrusive thoughts kept coming, and I was out of Klonopins and didn't have any reliable way to calm myself down.

Fortunately I had to get my bloodwork done that week, so I asked the doctor if I could get the prescription refilled or maybe get something different. I briefly explained why I needed it.

Side note: It's always strange when you tell an outsider, "Haha, yeah, that's what happened" and they respond with stunned silence followed by "What is wrong with your family?" I was expecting the usual "Suck it up, crybaby" response I get from my family.

And then two days later someone from Adult Protective Services showed up at the door to talk to me. We had a nice talk where I explained my family history and my intrusive thoughts and she gave me information about medical transportation and possible phone therapy appointments. In the end, she was satisfied that I wasn't in danger but I have her number if I need it.

And Mom was very upset. Because her disabled daughter was so upset and traumatized from the abuse she allowed to happen that I was considering suicide rather than facing my half-brother again? No, she was very upset that word might get back to the county her darling son lived in and it would harm his reputation. And upset at the possibility that Social Services might decide my home situation was unacceptable and help me move out. She didn't give a flip about my actual distress.

Fortunately, the bastard has decided to do some long-term camping for now, a lifelong hobby of his that he couldn't do for the last few years due to his wife's failing health. So my crisis is delayed until later this year.

As for the rest of my family, well... If I found out something I kept bringing up had upset someone so badly that they were having intrusive suicidal thoughts over it, I would NEVER bring it up around them again. I would be absolutely sure they weren't around if I wanted to bring it up. But this is my family we're talking about. Of course they bring it up in front of me all the time. I'm surprised they haven't commented on the sound of my teeth grinding together when they bring him up. I know they can hear it. But they don't care. (I can't ask them to stop because talking while I'm fighting off a panic attack always leads to me losing control and descending into a screaming, wailing mess.)

So I don't know what I'm going to do long-term, but I'm not going to hurt myself. Those are intrusive thoughts and I have medication to help calm me down now. I have a few more months to come up with a long-term solution.

Aaaaand certain relatives like to call and ask if I can come over and babysit her two toddlers for free RIGHT NOW so no time to proofread this. (Hopefully I won't be over there for six hours straight like last week.) So maybe I'll get to my positive, cheerful found-my-purpose-in-life post tomorrow.

#Just ignore me #Everyone else does #I still have plenty to live for

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lululawrence · 3 years

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Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

#long post #rant #i almost deleted this #but you sent it on just the right day and instead i let loose #this is unedited and unbetaed lmao but ENJOY #or don't #whatever #writing stuff #i should tag it #writing SHIT #but that's not really a tag i keep cause who wants to keep track of the negatives #not me

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shorkbrian · 3 years

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Give in to Love

so I have several thots about this. Like with Kiri, he would be like, relieved you’re being submissive but then he’d become like super depressed that you aren’t like idk seeming to live in your body, like you’re just a husk and he’d get so worried and sad and pamper you with so much love.

Yeah so aside from Kiri, a yan that I imagine this type of scenario is with someone like Victor Nikiforov from YOI

yes. This Bitch right here.

So first fucking off, he’s rich. Money is no problem for him.

Second off, he’s so confident that he would not hesitate to do whatever he wanted.

Third, he’s actually pretty kind (especially to pretty, vulnerable little things like you)

It’d probably start out with the man spilling coffee all over you or something SUPER cliche like that.

(Warnings - not much. NSFW but only the teeniest tiniest bit. barely even a mention. but obvs Yandere, dub con, dark content.)

He’s in a rush, he was bursting out of the coffee-shop, you just so happened to be walking by and in the direct path of the door and so smacks into you, knocking you onto your butt.

Immediately, you’re being helped up by a silver haired man, he’s apologizing heavily, patting your clothes into place, smoothing your hair, steadying you onto your feet. He’s so sorry, he didn’t even see you! And then the man stops, looks at you, smiles blindingly and blurts out that you’re pretty.

You’re understandably stunned. but you quickly just brush it off, his accent is foreign, it’s probably just a cultural thing.

Then he’s offering to buy you something to make up for him trying to give you a concussion, asking if you like coffee, sweets, maybe a sweater? You look cold.

And you’re just so tired, life is exhausting, you don’t really even care anymore what happens to you. You don’t protest as the man doesn’t wait for an answer, immediately grabbing your hand and marching you into the coffee shop he had just burst out of.

“Pick anything you’d like, my treat! An apology for not paying attention to such a beautiful thing.” He smiles, gesturing at the menu.

You study it for a second, but there’s too many choices, and it’d just be easier if you didn’t have to, and you’re so used to people telling you what to do and making decisions for you and you’re lost. Where do you even start?

After a few moments of silence, the man (who's been not-so-subtly watching you as you deliberate) speaks up. “Can I pick? I LOVE their raspberry cheesecake! So good!”

It sounds fine, and you’re somewhat relieved that he was going to choose, take the burden of responsibility off of your shoulders.

He buys one of the giant slices, ushers you to table, sits you down. The man watches you take a bite, his face lighting up and giving a little clap when you give a thumbs up. He has his own fork, and he takes bits and pieces here and there from the slice. While you eat, he talks.

His name is Victor, he’s from Russia, are you from around here? What’s your name?

“That’s such a pretty name!” He says your name once, twice, rolling it around in his mouth like it’s something to savor.

Victor is a ball of energy, confident, full of life. He’s frankly an intimidating man, with how attractive he is, the obviously expensive suit he wears, the way he dominates the conversation and expertly handles your awkward silences and uncomfortable pauses.

By the time you leave, he’s entered his number into your phone, quickly scrolling to find your own number (even though he was only supposed to put in his own - but you really didn’t care) and note it down.

You’re pretty sure he won’t actually be texting or calling you - he was just being polite, feigning interest in someone as boring and pathetic as yourself.

Lo-and-behold, that evening you get a notification that “Vitya! (:” has texted you.

Hello! Is your body feeling alright?

Immediately confused, you send out a reply

Who is this?

It’s Victor!!! From the coffeeshop, haha.

Oh, hi (: your contact name says “Vitya” lol what a typo

Not a typo, I like it when pretty girls call me Vitya (;

Baffled, you don’t reply, and no further messages are exchanged.

A few days go by, Victor texts you on the fifth day, asking if you wouldn’t mind recommending some fun local activities. You have to apologize - you don’t get out much, you’re sure there’s info online though.

Victor asks why you don’t go out, you decide to be blunt and succinctly explain the fatigue, you’re anxious, this is your first time being out on your own and you’re so used to other people dictating your life that it feels uncomfortable and wrong to be able to make decisions.

The man asks if you would go to that coffeeshop again with him. The switch of topic relieves you, but at the same time you’re frowning. You probably word-vomited all over him, complaining about your problems.

For some reason, you agree.

He meets you at the coffeeshop again, this time not even bothering to ask what you’d like to order. Victor just gets a few cookies, leads you to a table and plops down, spreading them in front of the two of you

“In case you don’t like one of them. And if you have allergies!”

You smile at his explanation.

Victor slowly becomes a constant in your life.

The texts turn into quick calls, inviting you places, begging you to come sit with him in the park, feed some pigeons. Go to the grocery store with him? He’s lonely, don’t make him go by himself!

Even if you refuse, you’re gently bullied into doing virtually everything he says. It’s not like you mind though, you’re used to it.

He starts showing up at your apartment, you aren’t even sure when you gave him your address, but now he invites himself inside.

The first time he had shown up, completely unannounced, you had protested only once before letting him in. You could tell he was scrutinizing your home, but what did it matter? Victor was wealthy, everything you owned seemed shabby and poor.

He came over most nights, sometimes bringing food, making you sit with him at your table and eat. Sometimes he brought a book, or his laptop, and quietly sat on your couch while you puttered around. He’d always get distracted from what he was reading though, chattering towards you about this or that or the other.

Victor was nice.

He made decisions for you, he made you eat, he quickly picked up on when you were too tired to function, when all you could do was collapse somewhere and fall asleep.

But Victor was also threatening.

If you tried refusing him too many times, or if you mentioned your coworker telling a funny joke (It’s not like he wasn’t funny, the joke was hilarious - Victor just didn’t seem to like it) Victor’s face would sour, eyebrows drawing low, a deep frown etched onto his face. HIs voice would take on a commanding tone, low, as if he was going to do something that neither of you would enjoy if he had to ask again.

It was scary sometimes.

But he had invaded your life, and you had stood by and idly watched. It’s not like you had put up a fight. You didn’t even know why he hung around you so, with the way you were constantly tired, moving through life like a zombie, sad and sleepy all the time.

Months passed and like every other year of your life, you could barely remember them slipping by. When had Victor become so comfortable in your apartment? It made you uncomfortable, but you were used to discomfort.

It came to a head when you retreated to your room for a nap, body sore and fatigued from merely existing. Victor followed you, nagging about wearing something cooler, to drink some water, how he heard about this new thing recently-

He followed you into your bed.

Like it was normal. Crawling under the covers with you, still maintaining a respectful distance, still talking. You were so tired, you didn’t care about how it made you uncomfortable.

When you woke up, he was curled around you, holding you tight. When you shifted, he had perked up, peeking around your shoulder to see your face. He had been awake the whole time, just chilling.

It was weird.

You were too tired to fight it.

Victor started paying for too much.

Of course it started small, as everything concerning Victor did. Sweets, small little gifts, occasionally a week’s worth of groceries.

Then it escalated. He was paying for your medications, for your therapies, for your health aids. He started trailing after you to doctor’s appointments, introducing himself as a concerned friend.

You knew this wasn’t good, wasn’t healthy. Something was wrong about this, but you just didn’t care. Something was always wrong, you were always being directed and pushed towards this or that. You just had to accept it.

Then Victor was paying your rent, buying you clothes (since when did friends buy each other underwear?) surprising you with bigger and more expensive gifts until you tried to put your foot down.

You had gotten a stern talking-to, treated like an ungrateful child. And maybe you were? Victor was doing so much for you, shouldn’t you just accept his care?

Victor suggested that you move into his house, since he practically lives at your little apartment anyways.

“My place is so much cozier! I have a fireplace, I miss it! I want to spend time with you but we could hang out in a more-” He looked around at your apartment “-comfortable place?”

You tried to argue, you did. But it took one disapproving glance from Victor and you were subdued, meekly agreeing to do whatever he wanted.

He called your landlord to terminate your lease. He helped you pack your clothes (that he had bought) into boxes (that he had bought) and arranged for your furniture (that he had bought, always complaining that your couch was bad for his back) to be sold.

Once moving in with him, he got more and more affectionate.

Right from the start, you quickly realized that Victor was very tactile-oriented. He wasn’t shy about physical touch, always wanting to hold hands or giving super long hugs, or begging to cuddle. He didn’t think it was weird, so you tried not to think so either.

Now that you were in his house, his gigantic, expensive house, Victor became even more physical. He showered you with kisses on the cheek, pressed to your forehead, on your shoulder, your neck when he curled around you at night (because of course you slept in the same bed. Victor had just laughed when you asked where your bedroom was)

Eventually, he kissed you on the mouth.

You were surprised, but you didn’t fight it. Why would you?

A heartfelt confession followed - how he had fallen in love with you at first sight, and how every day he fell more and more in love with you. You were his everything, the light of his life, he would die for you.

Don’t you feel the same?

You did, because that’s what Victor wanted to hear.

So now the two of you were dating, sharing kisses and intimate touches and eventually sharing bodies, letting him touch you even though it made your flesh crawl, touching him because he asked you to.

He provided everything, it was simpler just to do what he asked, what he desired. You didn’t even really mind being told what to do, what to wear, what and when to eat - it gave you a sense of comfort, knowing that you didn’t have to make decisions for yourself like that.

Victor would take care of you.

Even when you didn’t want him to

After all, it was simply easier to give in to love

#yandere victor nikiforov #yandere #victor #victor nikiforov #dark victor nikiforov

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duelistkingdom · 3 years

Text

you’d come back to me

chapter six: simmer

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Summary: Seto Kaiba has been presumed dead for four years after the events of Dark Side of Dimensions. His return causes both unresolved feelings of grief to be brought to the surface and the past to be dragged right back up. In hopes of helping Seto move on and reintegrate back into society at large, Mokuba asks Yugi to work on Spherium II with Seto. Never one to leave a friend hanging, Yugi agrees. Over the course of the project, Seto and Yugi both come to terms with their mutual grief and grow towards a better understanding of each other.

Rating: T

Ships: Yugi Mutou/Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba/Rebecca Hopkins, Katusya Jonouchi/Mai Kujaku

Warnings: aged up characters, grief, references to suicide

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Seto didn’t want a birthday party at all. Mokuba may have been okay with people knowing his birthday and Yugi might be fine letting the whole office know when his birthday was, but Seto preferred to keep his birthday to himself. Unfortunately, Mokuba insisted upon it and had claimed that normal people let others throw parties for their birthday. Seto had doubts about that but he was in no position to argue with Mokuba. Currently, Mokuba held all the cards and Seto had none. He couldn’t argue with Mokuba whenever Mokuba constantly reminded him that he had let Mokuba think that he was dead for four years. Seto wondered if he’d ever make up for that.

Rebecca still wouldn’t take his side on anything. In fact, whenever Seto had an opinion, Rebecca made sure to have the opposite. In fact, she seemed to think that a party was a great idea. He had no idea how she could claim that every time she threw a party, she acted like her entire life would fall apart if something went wrong. He kept that to himself because Rebecca had a habit of making his life hell when he disagreed. He was surprised to realize that Mokuba had invited Yugi and his friend group. “Why would you invite them,” Seto asked as Mokuba pinned a banner up under Rebecca’s careful observation. “I thought they didn’t like me.”

“Must you grump about everything,” Rebecca snapped. “You should be grateful that anyone wants to show up to your party at all.”

“Be nice,” Mokuba said as he finished pinning the ‘Happy Birthday’ banner in place. Mokuba was under the impression that all Rebecca and Seto needed was to talk things out. “They’re coming because I asked them to. I don’t want you guys to hate each other.”

Seto wasn’t sure how that translated to them attending his birthday party. It must be something else that he didn’t understand. He wanted instead to spend time alone and focus on the weird feeling that he was physically turning nineteen but since time went on without him, he was legally turning twenty-two. He wanted to fixate on it. He imagined that was probably another reason Mokuba would not let him be alone for the day. “It’s not that I hate them,” Seto said, pouting as if he was a child. “They hate me.”

“Yugi doesn’t hate anyone,” Rebecca countered with a roll of her eyes as she adjusted her mini skirt. “You’re projecting, you know. You hate yourself so you’re assuming that Yugi hates you too.”

“No I’m not,” Seto sputtered, angry that Rebecca would be so presumptuous. Then again, he supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rebecca did nothing but make assumptions of him. “I don’t hate myself! Where would you get that from?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “You might be able to fool yourself but you can’t fool me,” she said in a singsong voice. “Seriously, you need therapy, dude.”

“Rebecca,” Mokuba said gently before Seto could counter that it was her fault that he was in therapy. “Why don’t we go pick up Seto’s cake together?”

“But I’m right,” Rebecca complained as Mokuba took her arm. “He would be so much happier if he just admitted he’s got issues and got therapy!”

Seto was grateful as Mokuba took her out of the apartment, preventing him from pointing out that he very much was in therapy already. Now he could focus instead on how weird he felt about his birthday and what it meant in this context. He had been gone for four years. It had only been a few hours for him. He wanted to know how that worked. He wanted to fixate on Atem both being happy to see him and unwilling to properly interact with him.

Atem had asked him how he’d gotten there and then he had sent him back without even accepting Seto’s second challenge after Atem had easily dispatched him. Everyone else had moved on and Seto was still feeling the grief. He had been frozen in time and then ejected out to a new world that he didn’t understand. He felt an ache in him that he didn’t understand. And he recalled that Atem had said the place they met wasn’t actually where he was. He’d explained it as where life meets death and that those who were still alive could not stay without dying.

He had looked Seto in the eyes and said “I will not have your blood on my hands too.” Seto had no idea what that meant. He couldn’t think of Atem as anything other than a pure being. He’d been chasing Atem down for so long that he didn’t know what to do when he wasn’t doing that. It was supposed to be his twenty-two birthday and yet here he was, still physically nineteen. He’d missed turning twenty. He wanted to complain that it wasn’t fair but really… wasn’t it all his fault? He was the one who bolted when things started to get too hard. He’d let an obsession nearly drive him into an open grave.

The imagery unsettled him so he pushed it out of his mind. He’d been trying so hard to avoid putting those two together. He supposed that was probably why Mokuba had been so concerned and had welcomed him back as if nothing had changed. It was probably why Reiki acted as if Seto was about to kill himself. He supposed now he had time to fixate on Mokuba’s new life that he wasn’t around for. Mokuba, who had taken over Kaiba Corp when he was fifteen. That was his fault. He’d left and told Mokuba he was in charge. Something squeezed in his chest as he remembered Mokuba had begged him to promise that he’ll come back. He’d made no such promise. How did Mokuba manage to build such a normal life when he’d done this to him?

How could Mokuba allow him to stay in his home as if he’d never stuck a knife into his heart? Seto still didn't know how Mokuba could be so kind. It was better than he deserved.

“I know it’s his birthday,” Rebecca said with a frustrated sigh as she looked at the cake that Mokuba had put a lot of money into. She knew that Mokuba would never admit to his complicated feelings towards his brother; yet she wanted Mokuba to say that he was fucked up from Seto abandoning him with the company. She’d heard the story and had been disturbed by how Seto had done basically the same thing that Gozubora had done to Seto right to Mokuba. Mokuba had every excuse why it wasn’t the same thing but Rebecca knew better than that. “I still think you’re being way too nice to him.”

“He’s my brother,” Mokuba said with a frown. Rebecca knew that there was no point in arguing anymore - at least for today. She noticed what Mokuba refused to see and she hoped that one day she could get him to admit what he was really feeling. “Please. For me?”

Rebecca sighed, shaking her head. He’d been making such good progress in unpacking his trauma until Seto showed up again. It was like the walls started boarding up again. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing out the window of the bakery. For a moment, she wondered if Domino City would ever truly feel like home. She still felt guilty for leaving her grandfather alone in Arizona. It was something she’d never say outloud to Mokuba, however. He had more than enough to worry about without adding her to the list. “I'll be nice to him today but I make no promises about tomorrow.”

“I swear I’m fine,” Mokuba said, shaking his head as the baker placed the cake right into Mokuba’s arms. She didn’t understand how he could claim that when she saw him better than anyone else. He might be able to lie to Seto and he might even fool Yugi, but Rebecca was smarter than both of them as far as she was concerned. “You really don’t have to worry about me.”

“How about this,” she said with a teasing grin forming on her face, “I’ll stop worrying about you when you get therapy.”

Mokuba sighed, shaking his head with a slight smile on his face. Got him, Rebecca thought as her arm twisted through the crock of his elbow. He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. “You know, you’re really annoying sometimes,” he teased, well aware that this was not the first time that Rebecca had been called annoying. “Has anyone told you that?”

Rebecca laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Oh, all the time,” she said with a wink. “So how is therapy going, anyway?”

“It’s going alright. I’ve got another appointment scheduled this week,” Mokuba siad and that was enough for her to drop the subject altogether as they headed back to the car.

If it wasn’t for Mokuba, Yugi would not have bothered going to Seto’s birthday party at all. In fact, he found that he was doing more and more for the young CEO without even stopping to question if he should. However, this definitely called for moral support. It was the only reason Yugi got dressed today and headed out to Mokuba’s apartment.

He’d been avoiding the place since Seto got back. He’d had a lot of thoughts about how it might feel if Seto came back. He’d been so close to moving on from both Atem and Seto when Seto had to come crashing back into his life, ripping open old wounds again. Seemed no one was better than Seto at throwing salt and lemon over ripped open skin and rubbing it right in. It stung and Yugi thought his heart might bleed out on the floor if there was any justice in the world. His heart stubbornly continued to beat, as it had when Atem left and left him with half a heart in hand.

The blood in his veins continued to pump even when Seto had gone missing four years ago. And he continued to feel after Seto came crashing back into his life. He hated that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling. Not that he was willing to admit this to anyone but his therapist. His therapist, who was trying to get Yugi to open up a bit more about his dead ex boyfriend. He’d thought he’d been making progress. Yugi could’ve sworn he had moved on. He checked his phone, firing off a quick message to the user saggithedarkclown about what to look for in building a proper beatdown deck for the current meta. He could’ve sworn Jonouchi had that user. The only conclusion he could have for that was that Jonouchi must have sold it to someone.

He could easily ask Jonouchi for more information about who he’d sold it to but he didn’t really want to know and make whatever he was feeling towards the user. Knowing a name would make it real. He’d stay at home talking to them then go to Seto’s birthday party. He sighed as he adjusted his hair in the mirror, deciding to let the messy spikes loose for once. He’d put it off long enough and left his apartment, taking the familiar route to Mokuba's apartment.

Yugi had been relieved when Rebecca and Mokuba had started dating. Rebecca’s inappropriate crush on him had always made him uncomfortable. It was good that she’d found someone closer to her age. And he couldn’t think of anyone better than Mokuba for her, really. Mokuba and Rebecca, in Yugi’s opinion, made a very sweet couple. Of course, it’d be just his luck that neither Mokuba nor Rebecca were home while Seto was. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Seto at what was supposed to be his birthday party. “Kaiba,” Yugi said, short as he neatly kicked off his shoes by the door. “Happy birthday.”

Seto did not respond right away. It seemed like he was going to say something when there was another knock at the door. Seto opened the door and revealed that it was Ryou. “Hey, Kaiba, happy birthday,” Ryou said, a gentle smile on his face and a gift in hands. “I got you a present.”

“I can see that,” Seto said, short. “Mokuba had told me to direct any presents to that table over there.”

Seto gestured to a table where there were already a few presents on them. Yugi had to imagine they were all from Mokuba and there was a squeeze in Yugi’s heart. Mokuba had been trying so hard to make Seto feel like he’d never been gone. And yet Mokuba couldn’t wipe the past four years off his face. He could shrink back to his fifteen year old height. No matter what, those four years will have always gone by and Seto would not have been there for any of them. “Looks like Mokuba already got a few things,” Yugi noted, wondering what one would get for the man who had everything. “Where is Mokuba, anyway?”

“Went to get a cake,” Seto said, glaring at Yugi. If Yugi had been who he was six years ago, that glare might’ve scared him. But Yugi wasn’t fifteen and neither was Seto. Yugi instead straightened upright, once again wishing that at least he’d gained a few more inches in the past four years. “Why’d he invite you, anyway?”

Ryou stepped between the two of them before Yugi could retort back. “We’re here because we’re glad you’re back, Kaiba,” Ryou said lightly, clearly attempting to diffuse the situation. “We used to all be friends, remember? We’d like to give you the chance to be friends with us again.”

Out of respect for the fact that Ryou didn’t like confrontation, Yugi decided to avoid letting his anger towards Seto get the better of him. He had four years to think about all the ways Seto had made his life miserable, after all. Even now, Seto was still making his life miserable. He was grateful to see Mokuba and Rebecca come in through the door shortly after. “I’m back,” Mokuba called as Rebecca took the cake from Mokuba. “Rebecca said she’s going to play nice today.”

“Consider it your birthday gift,” Rebecca said before mouthing ‘I’m going to kick you in the shine tomorrow’ with a bright smile. “We got cake! And I see guests are already starting to arrive.” Once again, Rebecca glared at Seto before mouthing ‘if you ruin this, I will kick you so hard you’ll cry’ to Seto. “So it just leaves Jonouchi and Anzu, right?”

“Why is Jonouchi coming to my birthday,” Seto instantly complained.

“You should be grateful he even agreed to come,” Rebecca said before Yugi could jump in with a defense of Jonouchi. “He thought it would be good to have a fresh slate.”

“A fresh slate is exactly what this is about,” Mokuba said, throwing an arm around Seto with a bright grin. As usual, he was trying so very hard to be okay. “The past is the past, Seto. We can move forward.”

Seto looked over at Mokuba and Yugi noted that for once, Seto seemed softer than usual. He sighed before looking away. “Fine,” Seto said. “Fresh slate.”

The knock on the door came and Rebecca bounded over to answer the door. The door swung open and Anzu moved to immediately pull Rebecca into a hug with a bright smile. “Becca,” Anzu said with an excited tone. Anzu and Rebecca had gotten closer as Rebecca taught Anzu English and Anzu helped Rebecca with her Japanese. Yugi could not discern what Anzu was saying to Rebecca as his English was a little rusty. He caught “theatre” and “dance company” and “Black Magician Girl”, leading him to assume that something exciting related to Anzu’s dream of playing Black Magician Girl on Broadway. Perhaps either an audition or… maybe she’d gotten the role? He’d have to ask later. “I brought you a gift, Kaiba,” Anzu said, switching back to Japanese. “Happy birthday! It’s so good that you’re back!”

She stated this as if Seto had been on vacation instead of assumed dead. He figured this was mostly for the benefit of Mokuba, who very clearly wanted things to go well today. “Thank you,” Seto said stiffly as Anzu placed her gift with the rest of the gifts. Yugi vaguely wondered what Anzu wound up getting Seto for his birthday. He knew she’d stressed over it, asking him what she got someone who could buy themselves anything they wanted. Yugi hadn’t been able to give her any advice. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He was much nicer to Anzu, Yugi noted with surprise. Then again… Seto had never really been nasty to Anzu, had he? He wondered why that was. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, nudging him lightly. “It’s your first birthday in four years! Of course that’s worth getting a present for!”

Seto tensed up and Yugi instantly wondered what Seto was thinking. His heart clenched. He bet Atem would’ve known what Seto was thinking. Atem always seemed to know exactly what Seto was thinking. Yugi supposed if it was Atem, he’d know. Yugi could only guess. He thought that perhaps Seto might be uncomfortable with the attention and did not feel like celebrating his birthday. The other thing that Yugi knew for sure was that Seto would never tell Yugi if he’d gotten it right. “Thank you, Anzu,” Mokuba said, stepping in. “Really glad you could make it from New York City to the party.”

“What are you doing in New York City, anyway,” Seto asked and Yugi was surprised to note that Seto seemed genuinely curious. It was then that Yugi realized that Anzu had left for New York City after Seto had gone missing. They hadn’t known it at the time when they were waving Anzu off. Mokuba had kept the news a secret for the first few weeks until it became clear he could not hide the news anymore. Yugi had been the first he told.

“I was studying dance in New York City at Julliard,” Anzu said with a light shrug. “However… as I was telling Becca earlier… I got an audition for Black Magician Girl!”

“Anzu, that’s amazing,” Yugi said, reflexively. He and Anzu had to learn how to settle for a long distance friendship. No longer could he just go over to her and talk about how he was feeling. And well, no one deserved good things more than Anzu. Still… Yugi didn’t like that one of his dearest friends was so far away. “Congratulations! I just know you’ll get the part.”

“You better save us tickets for the show when you get the part,” Ryou said with a light grin, giving her a quick hug. “If any of your costars happen to be into the occult… you know where to direct them.”

“Right to your shop, of course,” Anzu said with a bright grin as she settled down into her usual spot on the couch. It gave him time to note that her sense of style had shifted yet again. He smiled fondly - Anzu was always trying out the latest fashion trends. “How’s business, anyway?”

“Never better,” Ryou said, a grin shot at Yugi. Yugi knew that a lot more people had gotten into the conspiracy theories that surrounded the events of Duelist Kingdom and Battle City. Yugi wished people would stop trying to figure out what happened then. It was difficult to explain as was without adding the broken heart to the mix. “I keep pestering Yugi to Duel again because it’s good for business. But all he wants to do is still play exhibition matches.”

Yugi noted the strange look on Seto’s face. Did Seto already know this? He wouldn’t be surprised if Seto had done his research on what was going on with Duel Monsters. “Must explain all the time Yugi has on his hands,” Seto remarked.

Before Yugi could ask Seto what he meant by that, Jonouchi entered holding a bag that was too small to contain anything sustainable, alongside Honda and Mai, who had what looked to be a single card. He supposed he should just be grateful that Jonouchi showed up with anything at all for Seto, even if it was probably a rock he’d found on one of his hikes. Yugi was, however, very surprised that Honda had bothered to get Seto anything. He knew that Honda was already stretched pretty thin working for his dad. “Alright, the party can really start,” Jonouchi said, holding his arms out and spinning around. “I’m here!”

“Really thought the real party starter was me,” Mai teased as she shoved the card into Seto’s chest. “Here, I got you a birthday card. Happy birthday, jackass.”

“I thought we were supposed to be nice to Seto,” Rebecca complained, immediately rushing to give Mai a large hug. “Don’t tell me I could’ve called him a jackass this whole time!”

“I don’t care,” Seto said, a frown on his face. “It’s whatever.”

“Okay, everyone, please be nice to Seto, it’s his birthday,” Mokuba said, sounding rather tired that he had to say this yet again. Granted, it seemed that not everyone was paying attention to what Mokuba had to say. Anzu and Jonouchi were talking about something that got drowned out in the increased din of the space. Yugi could hardly note who was talking to who, actually. As per usual, Mokuba’s apartment had become a hot spot for everyone to hang out at. “Seriously, it would mean a lot to me if we tried to keep this a nice party.”

Yugi was surprised when Seto had gotten up and tapped his upper arm. He spun around, staring up at Seto, a raised brow. What on Earth could he want? “Can you stop messing with my things,” Seto said to Yugi, an annoyed look on his face. “It’s getting annoying.”

“What are you talking about,” Yugi asked, surprised by this request. “I haven’t messed with anything of yours.”

Seto looked up, as if asking the heavens for patience. He pinched the bridge of his nose before stating, “I mean that I want you to stop changing the Pharaoh’s deck.”

Yugi’s blood ran ice cold. His hands balled up into fists and it took everything in Yugi to not let his blinding rage take over. “That’s not Atem,” Yugi said, a lot more shaky than he thought he’d be. He knew eventually Seto would probably figure it out. He wasn’t expecting Seto to confront him about it. “You and I both know Atem’s dead.”

“I could have you fired,” Seto said, an ugly look twisting upon his face as Yugi reminded him that Atem was dead.

Yugi took a deep breath, steadying himself. “You aren’t CEO anymore,” Yugi shot back, angry that he’d threaten his job like that. Over his stupid obsession with a dead man. Yugi didn’t understand why Seto would want to talk about this here when Mokuba was stretching himself thin to try to make tonight go smoothly. “You gave it up four years ago when you abandoned us all!”

Seto spluttered and Yugi knew he was being unfair. But Seto wasn't being fair either. Why should Yugi split hairs and dance around the truth of the matter when Seto was trying to pick a fight? Seto owed Yugi more than a few deck changes on a blasted AI as far as Yugi was concerned. He was shocked by the depth his anger went. He supposed it was because he kept pushing it down in an attempt to make things nice. “You…,” Seto started, clearly at a loss for words. “You don’t understand anything.”

“I don’t understand anything,” Yugi repeated, incredulously. How could Seto claim that? No one understood the pain of losing Atem better than Yugi. Yugi, who didn’t even have the guts to kiss Atem goodbye. He remembered each feather light touch that Atem used to give, each of the soft assurances. Worst of all, he remembered ‘I want to be with you forever’ and the sting when Atem didn’t stay. He remembered stolen moments at night under the cover of darkness. When it was just him and Atem in the world and nothing else mattered. “No one understands better than me what it’s like to lose Atem. No one. Not even you can understand what I went through when Atem died, Kaiba. Don’t you think I was hurting too? I literally lost part of my heart the day he died. I thought I might shatter when I watched him leave, after he had said he wanted to stay. He used to live right here,” Yugi said, pointing right to his heart. “What do you do when someone who lived in your heart is gone forever?”

Seto didn’t have a response and it was only then that Yugi realized he was starting to cry as tears spilled down his cheeks. Only then did Yugi realize that he had also started yelling half through this. And yet Yugi couldn’t find it in him to care. He didn’t care that Seto looked at a loss for words. He didn’t care that he had told Kaiba that his pain didn’t matter at the core of that speech. “Yugi,” Seto started and Yugi didn’t care what Seto had to say to explain himself. “That…”

Anzu stepped between them this time, glaring at Seto. “I think enough’s been said,” she said shortly before turning to Yugi, eyes full of concern. Anzu had loved Atem too. Yugi knew this. It had killed Anzu too when he left. He haunted everything, didn’t he? Yugi had that numb realization that Atem had managed to leave cracks in every single one of them. “It’s okay,” she said gently, pulling Yugi into a tight hug. The kind she gave him six years ago, with no care for her own pain and a spasm of guilt filled him. Anzu didn’t have to comfort him, but she did. He returned the hug, allowing himself to sob. “You’re okay.”

“Well,” Mokuba finally said, clearly rattled. “There goes the party.”

Yugi’s comments had rattled Seto a lot more than he had ever wanted to admit. He stared up at the ceiling in Mokuba’s apartment as he worked through what Yugi had revealed to him. He figured it made sense that the Pharaoh and Yugi had been close. He just didn’t think it involved actual romantic feelings. He thought back to the bedroom the Pharaoh had dueld him in and the outfit that Yugi clearly programmed in. He’d been blind this whole time. Yugi had dropped hints about the true nature of his relationship with the Pharaoh and Seto hadn’t wanted to see it.

It was a hard thing to accept. It was even harder when he thought of the lingering hug that Anzu had given Yugi. Why did that sting? It made sense that Anzu and Yugi might develop a relationship in his absence. Anzu and Yugi always had something between them. He wasn’t a fool, after all. Not only that… Anzu had always been so much better than him. She’d called Seto out all the way back in Duelist Kingdom when he’d dismissed Yugi for saving his life. Seto had stood on that ledge and, at the time, he’d believed it had been Yugi who had refused to call off the attack. He’d learn the difference as he reexamined it. The Pharaoh had to have been the one to call the attack and Yugi had to be the one to refuse to call the attack. Yugi was compassionate, after all.

The more Seto reexamined the past, the more questions he had. This, in itself, was a question. How long had Yugi and the Pharaoh been lovers? When did Anzu and Yugi’s relationship develop - before or after he left? Was everything more complicated than Seto assumed it to be? He’d assumed that everything was straightforward. He assumed that Yugi was simply the vessel for the Pharaoh. He never considered that Yugi was one half of the component to who the Pharaoh was. Clearly there was more to learn here. He needed to know more.

He briefly considered how the Pharaoh had shattered his heart and Seto had to put it back together again. Mokuba had been the missing piece then. He thought again of Anzu. Anzu had a heart that had been put together correctly the first time, like Yugi. Unlike him, she’d never once been considered incomplete. She’d never been considered a monster. In many ways… if he had to pick someone for Yugi after Atem died… he’d probably pick Anzu. And after she’d been the only able to put Yugi back together after he started to cry...

That had been his fault. He’d made Yugi cry. Seto wondered how anyone stood to be around him when all he did was shatter those he… it’s not that he cared about Yugi. He just didn’t like to see him cry. He didn’t even realize when he’d fallen asleep. And in his sleep, he dreamt of Yugi’s kind face and of a world where he might actually deserve Yugi.

#fic: you'd come back to me

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pondermoniums · 3 years

Text

A little post season 3 ficlet (2749 words) featuring some holiday fluff <3 See tags or read on ao3 here ~

• • • •

Billy still feels it. He wishes his muscle memory had died with him, but it just came back with him too.

The things he felt.

The things It felt.

Everything It made him do.

His psychiatrist tries to tell him that his scars are his body claiming his soul back. Billy couldn’t agree. He didn’t like touching the starbursts on his torso because the shiny scar flesh felt tissue-paper thin—not to his fingertips, but underneath. His heart trembled as if he could just push a little too hard, and enter his ribs—

“Hey, the new place opened up off Main Street. You know those new roads they’re building? There’s already a Greek place there. Let’s get a menu.”

Billy frowned at him. Steve Harrington. He’d been at the mall. Billy didn’t remember seeing him…during…but afterward. In the spotty shreds of memory that were all his own, he remembered Steve looking nearly as bad as he felt. The memories swirled together like a circus dream. Steve and…Robin. Her name is Robin…in striped costumes. Steve carried Max away from his body. Robin practically did the same for the girl with a number for a name. All of them glowed with Starcourt neon pink and purple and red.

Steve’s car hummed around them, and fell silent when he turned onto the fresh asphalt of Hawkins’ new road. Steve laughed a little. “Farmer Higgins is probably still fuming. Last thing the mayor did before he got booted out of here was steal land for these businesses.”

“What’s it matter?” Billy exhaled. There were less people in Hawkins to fuel the shady economy anyway.

“Well I can’t speak for your Camaro, but my car doesn’t last long, driving brodies with trees in the way.”

His little sapphire. A dark mixture of humor and apathy seeped into his blood at the memory of Steve Harrington, of all people, slamming into him. He didn’t do it hard enough.

Now he sat in the car Steve drove. Not because the Camaro couldn’t be fixed, but because Billy wasn’t fit to drive yet. Maybe there was something full-circle about it. Or a broken circle; an open-ended thing, like Billy.

“As if you could do a brody.”

Steve smirked. “Thankfully I’ve ruined enough fields for practice.”

And then he pulled right off the road, slipped through a tiny thicket of trees framing the road, and burst upon a dry, yellow field. He turned sharply, throwing Billy against him…until the car locked into a paradox of calm and chaos. The back wheels revolved around them to dig a doughnut in the earth. Steve let the wheel go, and they rocked as the car jerked with the front tires straightening.

Steve looked around them to find the road again and made a mock sound of getting sick. “Glad we didn’t eat first.”

He grinned at Billy, making him realize a smile had stuck on his face like a cramped muscle. He pushed a hand over his mouth, physically melting it off.

The food was good. The flavors shoved their way over his pallet. It was kind of hard to enjoy food now. He ate when his body needed it but he didn’t get the emotional reaction to it—

“I didn’t know we had Greeks in Hawkins,” Steve conversed openly. A small, lost part of Billy remembered Steve calling him out for being mouthy during basketball, but Steve could talk. He wiped his mouth and dug back into his rice plate. “Then again, Robin and Dustin always have something to say about authenticity. Like you spend a day outside of Indiana and you’re worldly.”

“Did you forget where I’m from?” Billy spoke before he meant to. California didn’t seem to matter much any—

“Did you?” Steve tossed back.

Silence fell over their booth while Steve waited. Then he went back to his food when Billy clearly didn’t care about responding.

Over and over again.

Steve picked Billy up.

Hospital.

Food.

Back to Cherry Lane.

Steve talked. Sometimes Billy replied.

Then things began to change. Steve took Billy to the grocery store after Billy’s therapy. Billy had emerged ruddy-eyed liked he smoked a pound of weed, and Steve had merely said, “I’m feeling tacos.”

Only instead of a restaurant, he took them to the store. And then the Harrington house. Billy talked more there.

“No, no, it’s queso fresco.”

“It’s just cheese, though?”

“Jesus, it’s like I’m the one who grew up with farmers. Different rain waters different grass. That makes different cows, which make different milk. Do you know anything about breweries?”

“Do you?” Steve challenged while they made a mess of his kitchen counter. Crumbles of white cheese, lettuce, and other tacos toppings littered the fancy granite.

“I know that breweries stay put. Because the water’s different. They have to have the right water to make the right beer. I haven’t had my favorite lager since I moved here.”

“What’s it taste like?”

Billy told him. Billy told him a lot of things. Steve just…got a rise out of him the way his therapist couldn’t. Then again, Steve never asked about all the things Billy wanted to burn out of his brain.

Then Cherry Lane fell off the list. Billy couldn’t say how exactly he moved into Harrington’s house. Maybe the food flowed into Billy falling asleep, and starting the next day from Steve’s house just happened too many times. Maybe Max used Steve’s pool too many times. Maybe it was when Billy realized Steve wasn’t just driving him to his physical and mental therapy sessions.

He walked out of the physical therapy gym at the back of the hospital to meet Steve in the same lobby they parted ways in. But Steve wasn’t there. Billy asked the nearby receptionist if “the guy with the hair” had gotten lost to the bathroom, but she only replied, “He’s running a little overtime, but he should be on his way.”

Billy’s appointments took hours. It made sense for Steve to leave and come back—

But the elevator dinged, and Steve was too busy reading something to not walk into a passing nurse. “Oh! Ow—sorry! Sorry,” he exclaimed, holding his arm…

He rolled the shoulder of that arm on the way through the parking lot, swinging the arm round and around like he was warming up for tennis. Inside the car, Billy cornered, “What were you doing in there?”

Steve glanced at him but shrugged as he turned the ignition. “Blood work. An IV drip. MRI’s. My usual stuff. The drip took longer this time.”

“Usual stuff? How come I’m just now hearing of this?”

“Remember, Robin used to meet us here? She got cleared faster.”

“Cleared out of what? How are you more broken than she was?”

Steve stared at him for an unnerving minute. “They…kind of beat the shit out of me. So… I mean, you pack a wallop, but Russians with an agenda put you to shame.”

Billy suddenly wondered if he’d overstepped a boundary. Steve just talked so much, and took whatever Billy gave him without flinching that he never considered…

“Getting concussed and doped up with unknown chemicals isn’t everyone’s normal Thursday.”

Billy had forgotten that Steve had been through shit like this before. Not with the same variables, but… “I forget that your normal got thrown out the window before I got here.”

“It’s not a competition,” Steve tried to say lightly. He waved a hand in front of the vents as if their lingering in the parking lot was just to wait for the heating to kick on.

“And if it is, who’d win?”

“Oh, I think Will Byers has us beat.”

That…hit differently than Billy expected. A laugh burst out of him, like it had just been waiting for a weight to lift off of him to break free. “Yeah. Maybe he does.”

Then they went to Steve’s house, where more and more of Billy’s clothes had accumulated. The kitchen had been stocked with food bought from Steve’s wage and Billy’s top-secret government allowance—which turns out, was rather high. Steve, for all his fancy furniture and basically bottomless bank account thanks to his parents, had to pick his jaw up off the floor when Billy finally revealed the monthly check to him.

“Holy shit. Don’t let the nerds see that; they’ll siphon quarters out of you for the arcade.”

“They’re old enough to want beer and condoms.”

Steve scoffed as he flipped their dinner pancakes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think they’ll sooner pop their cherries than go for beer.” Then he grimaced and waved his spatula. “New subject! Change the subject.”

Billy laughed from the breakfast bar, where he was arranging his medication into a days-of-the-week organizer. It was just a bar of little snap-closed boxes, but it helped him keep track of the pills he took—and the ones he ignored.

Steve had asked him once, “Why do you always leave the red ones?”

“They turn me into a vegetable.”

“Oh. You can’t, like…split it in half? Half vegetable?”

Billy couldn’t say why he felt comforted by Steve’s uniquely clueless way of thinking. Perhaps the guy actually made sense, or maybe he just over-simplified things in an over-complicated world.

Now, though, he set the spatula down with the announcement, “Oh! I got you something. Well, I hope I got the right stuff.”

Billy didn’t go with him to the garage, but he did follow Steve with his eyes. Blue irises locked onto the shockingly familiar box of lager when Steve returned. “Where in the hell did you find that?”

That dopey, thrilled grin made Steve glow like the Christmas lights they’d thrown all over the open floor plan. “Dude, there are professional shoppers! I mean, that makes each can like…a twenty-dollar beer, and this is the only box I got, but this is the stuff you were talking about, right? The lady on the phone said they released other flavors, but you only said ‘lager,’ so it’s what I got.”

The cans were practically frozen from being in the garage, but Billy tore open the box as well as he could to pry one out. “I don’t think I’ve been given the okay for alcohol.”

“We can water it down.”

“You don’t water down beer!”

“Then split one with me. I’ve chilled glasses somewhere…”

He went digging in the freezer drawer and pulled out plastic wine glasses. Billy snorted as he accepted one. “This is so cheap.”

“Yeah well, even mom’s fancy bimbo friends break wine stems around the pool. Gimme that.”

Billy appreciated that Steve made it sound greedy, instead of pitiful. Billy had trouble with his hands.

The can snapped open with a satisfying metallic crack. Billy teased as Steve poured, “Is this your first rodeo? Look at all that foam.”

“We’ve got time. The pancakes are almost done.”

Billy pushed his pill organizer aside to rest his chin on his arms, listening to carbonation sizzle while he watched Steve’s shoulder blades move under his sweatshirt.

“When do you get cleared for pot?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be officially cleared for that—hey, hey!”

Steve had turned around, leaning back against the counter with a pancake in his hand and a full cheek. “Whuh?”

“You’re eating my dinner! Dump the skillet over a plate and get over here!”

Steve came around to sit on the stool next to him with a pancake in his mouth and—

“Are those my slippers?”

“You mean my slippers that I hadn’t worn yet? Yeah, I took them back,” Steve retorted.

Billy successfully knocked one off his foot. “They still had the tags when I got to them. So dibs.”

Steve kicked the other slipper into the living room. “No dibs if you don’t have both.”

“You’re wearing my sweatpants. I get your slippers.”

“I get your beer and you get my pancakes.”

“Not if you eat all of them! Syrup, now,” Billy demanded with a grabby hand gesture.

Steve disintegrated into giggles that made him sound as much like a little kid as movie heartthrob. He finished pouring and passed the bottle.

So it went. Back and forth. Back and forth.

First Steve took Billy’s time. The minutes that built into hours driving to and from the hospital. Then Billy ate his food. Steve covered the restaurant tabs until they switched to cooking at his house. Steve washed his clothes and wore them like his own. Billy took Steve’s car keys and drove for the first time with Steve practically hostage all the way to the tree farm.

“I didn’t take you for a real tree kind of person.”

“You have the ceiling space for a nine-foot tree.”

“How the hell are we hauling a nine-foot tree?” Steve practically blanched. “And with what car?” He adjusted his earmuffs because he’d rather be caught dead than wear a proper hat. Billy, meanwhile, strolled through the greenery and the first snowflakes spitting from the sky with leisurely ease in his beanie.

He laughed, “I like how you’re not saying no.”

Steve didn’t do much to hide his mimicry as he trudged behind Billy, who chuckled to himself. “For once it actually smells nice. The trees really cover up the cow shit of—oh my god, there are actual cows.”

A line of tables displayed other living decorations like wreaths and garlands, but beyond them was a field of black and red cattle. Billy moved under a line of wreaths hanging over their heads to see how they actually had blankets on their backs. “Are the cow jackets norm—”

Steve caught his mouth in a quick, firm kiss. The sound of their lips parting echoed in Billy’s ears. Steve’s fingers lifted off his jaw to touch something noisy above their heads. Billy dumbly looked up to see the tiny bells interwoven with a mistletoe wreath. “Careful. We have real mistletoe here. Not whatever plastic California has.”

He left Billy stupefied, having the audacity to stroll away with a whistle on his lips before Billy snapped out of it and nearly tackled him. “OW! Agh, fu-shit, Jesus—”

“You’re better about planting your feet,” Billy breathed against Steve’s earmuff. He held Steve’s arms trapped against his body.

“Are you always this mean when someone kisses you?” he strained in Billy’s tight grip. The gravel under their boots grit and rattled as Billy dragged Steve deeper into the trees. “Alright! I should’ve asked! I’m sorry—”

Steve might’ve stolen the first kiss, but Billy shoved him into a tree and took it back. He took Steve’s cold shock against his lips, until hot breath warmed them up between nervous stares. Then Billy took his lips, his tongue, the taste of the mint brownies Steve ate on the way here. The cold tip of Steve’s nose pushed into his cheek, and Billy’s heart felt fragile against the softness of Steve’s mouth.

His breath trembled as he asked, “Why did you do that?”

Why do you give me rides? Give me food? Why do you cook every night? Why did you give me a bedroom? Will you let me into yours?

Steve’s arms around his waist moved, tightening a little but also moving up Billy’s spine as if to comfort him. To anchor them together. Steve swallowed, and the fragility in his eyes made Billy’s throat hurt. “I didn’t get to the first time.”

Billy couldn’t stand it. He pushed Steve’s earmuffs off in his effort to press his face against Steve’s neck. To absorb the delicious little sound that escaped him when Billy’s cold nose found the warm pocket inside his collar.

Billy didn’t think he’d be able to kiss anyone ever again.

Not after…

But all he wanted was to keep Steve’s lips on him. To steal him away like some fairytale winter troll and either keep him or devour him if he tried to leave.

“Billy?” His name was muffled against his own scarf, so tightly did Steve hold onto him.

But if Steve was taking…maybe Billy could let himself be stolen again.

“When we’re home…” he sniffled on his way back up to standing on his own. “Kiss me again.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

Billy laughed through his tears. “No, you’re buying me the biggest tree your car can carry. And I’ll steal that wreath while they’re distracted.”

“You have the money to buy it!”

“That’s no fun.”

#harringrove #pondermoniums #stolen #ficlet #one shot #holiday fluff #snowy kisses #post s3 #billy hargrove #steve harrington

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neednothavehappenedtobetrue · 3 years

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here are some scripts, ranked in order of how difficult the scripty thing will be to do.

easy mode: "hey Boss, I am, as you know, having a bit of a medical situation, it is not an emergency, but I will be taking X day off to do some routine maintenance"

do not overexplain! do not tell him anything additional! it would be fine if you did, but also, don't!

medium mode (I am terrified of haircuts and therefore hair stylists, sorry about the person I am) "hi! you will notice that my hair is quite dirty. this is because I have been having trouble washing it often because of a medical concern I have that I am getting fixed. I am sorry about this! no, I do not know exactly how long it has been since I washed it, but because of the medical stuff my memory is quite bad, you are probably best equipped to make a guess, as a hair expert person. the medical thing is not COVID-related or otherwise contagious, and I am getting it addressed ASAP. please do not make jokes about this, I am very self-conscious about it.

what's the medical problem? "they're adjusting a medication I take that can sometimes cause fatigue, and forgetfulness and generally make it hard to do stuff" be pleasantly vague! if they ask you really persistently, just say "depression" but probably they will not.

if at all possible, do not tell them that your last hairstylist made a joke about you inadequately washing your hair and you hated it. they do not require this information. practice not oversharing QUITE so much.

hard mode: doctor! (this part gets Really Explicit with the details of my ED, so it is under a cut, only read it if knowing how many meals/calories I eat a week will not trigger you, please do not trigger yourself, I'm sorry but I think if I do not put this here I will not say it, so it needs to go here)

-"hi doctor P, so I made this appointment to talk about a concern I have been having for some time, but now I have two concerns. my initial concern is that I have been experiencing some nausea, particularly bad in the mornings. I am definitely for sure not pregnant. I have been taking phenergan as needed, but not every day. I have only thrown up twice in six weeks, so it is not terrible, but it is also not great. I don't want to take too much phenergan because the hospital doctors told me it could cause heart problems and also I could get too used to it and have it stop working, how worried should I be about those things? sometimes in the morning, I do not feel nausea in my stomach, but I do start gagging or dry-heaving randomly. I have never thrown up from this but it is weird and also means I need to take Zoom calls with my camera off. do you have any ideas or suggestions?

also, a problem that might actually be a bigger problem is that I have recently-ish come to terms with the fact that I have an eating disorder. I have had it off and on probably since I was in my teens. it is not necessarily textbook, in that I am rarely or never preoccupied with my weight and rarely, although not never, restricting deliberately. it initially started when I got the idea that if I lost a lot of weight very quickly, my parents, who were refusing to let me do therapy or psych meds again, would consider it. I never got to a dangerous weight level and I do not remember how long or how much I restricted, but a problem that came from that is that ever since when I am particularly struggling with a mental health issue, like bipolar or depression, I tend to stop eating. part of this problem is that I am very forgetful and literally forget to eat, especially in the absence of real hunger cues. part of the problem is that it is hard to do multi-step tasks when I am depressed, and eating food requires me to stop whatever I am doing, get up, go to the kitchen, figure out what I want to eat, prepare it in some way, and then actually physically eat it. lately, I have been drinking a lot of delivery smoothies because they are easy and digestible, and sandwiches as well. the problem has been particularly bad this past month or so, in a way that I suspect is not entirely explained by those two factors. I am working with my therapist and psychiatrist to fix it. I know that ED can trigger or worsen gastroparesis and I know I should have told you earlier, but I haven't been able to be honest with myself about the severity of the problem.

-this past month, I have been averaging between six and ten meals a week, with some snacks as well. on a good day, I probably hit 1200 calories, on a bad day I don't know, but less than that for sure. on my worst day last week, I ate the meat and cheese inside of half a sandwich and drank some juice, but nothing else. on my best day I drank one and a half smoothies and ate part of a sandwich, which I recognize is still pretty bad.

I am working with my psychiatrist and psychologist on this issue. I have started to take Adderall again, but this is only the second day of me taking it, so meds-related appetite lost is not the issue here.

I cannot get ED professional mental health treatment because, since I am in grad school, my parents pay for all of my medical care and they fundamentally do not believe I have an eating disorder. this is because my mom, who probably has her own ED, thinks 1200 calories is enough for a human per day and also because I am overweight. I saw a nutritionist for three months pre-pandemic and we worked on getting me to eat three meals and two snacks a day, but my parents stopped paying for her because I was not losing weight. I have told them exactly and in detail how little I am eating and they still do not believe I should be eating more, so they refuse to pay for ED-related medical care for me. this is part of a pattern for them, I am working on it in therapy and part of working on it will be figuring out how to pay for my own medical care, but right now I am doing my very best.

I do not know how much I currently weigh or how much weight I might have lost. I do not keep a scale in my apartment, because I am certain I would get obsessive with it. my friends say I look like I have been losing some weight, but it is hard to tell how much.

I know ED is bad for gastroparesis and I am sorry, but I am doing my very best and still struggling.

what I need from you is suggestions on safe ways to get more calories and any other suggestions you have for successfully eating. I am happy to put you in touch with my psychiatrist if you feel that would be useful. my therapist is, just for this week, on vacation. I will see her next week and could connect you then as well.

I cannot see any ED-specific specialists, because my parents categorically will not pay for them. I cannot see a nutritionist or a dietician, same reason. I could potentially see a new gastroenterologist who deals with this stuff in more depth, but my parents will probably Google her, which might pose a problem, and also they have a specific gastroenterologist they want me to see, so they might just... refuse anyway to let me choose my own gastroenterologist. they are like that. however, if you know a GI doctor who knows a lot about both gastroparesis and ED and whose website is not too significantly ED-focused, that might be helpful, or it might not work.

I know this is bad, and I know I need to fix my life so they are not paying for my medical care, I am working on it, I promise. do you have any suggestions?

great! that is a script! also, if she is garbage about this, you can GET A NEW DOCTOR literally at any time, if it sucks, hit the bricks.

#ed for ts #disordered eating for ts #alex's parents #medical neglect for ts #I do not usually tag posts about my personal parents with words like neglect #that is what the tag alex's parents is for #blacklist that if you need #but this one is uh pretty bad #pretty neglectful #so! here we go

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] Also on AO3

Chapter 19: Martin

It shouldn’t really startle Martin when he falls asleep mid-conversation. After all, it’s been a rather traumatic twenty-four hours, both physically and emotionally. He’s in a decent amount of pain, and he needs rest to heal. He knows all of that, logically. But he’s also never been good at sleeping if there’s anyone else awake in the room, so when he wakes up in a dark room and realizes that the last thing he recalls is Tim starting—but not finishing—one of his terrible jokes, he’s not sure what surprises him more, the fact that he fell asleep or the fact that he actually feels rested.

Sort of, anyway. He’s sore all over—the painkillers have obviously run their course—but he’s not too tired to think, and he’s obviously slept deeply. He stares at the blurry void currently standing in for the ceiling and tries to figure out how he feels about that. It should be a good thing, but it’s…well, there’s no other word for it, it’s weird.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that weird. Not as weird as the fact that he’s been talking to a future version of himself for eight days—somehow without knowing he’s blind—or the fact that his future self and Jon’s future self seem insanely close. Not as weird as being held hostage by a woman riddled with worms or attacked in his workplace by that same woman and her moderately-sized army of parasites. Not as weird as entities fueled by fear or an apocalypse being caused by a semi-immortal man currently disguised as an ordinary pencil-pusher. It is, in fact, the ordinary kind of weird, and really, Martin shouldn’t be getting hung up on it. Nevertheless, here he is, unable to understand when he came to trust the rest of the Archival team enough that he feels safe enough to fall asleep while they’re still awake to do things to him.

He really needs therapy, something he’s known for years, but several of the reasons he needs therapy tie into why he avoids therapy and it’s just a whole mess. The only reason he hasn’t done it that doesn’t tie into yet another trauma or blow to his psyche is the fact that he really can’t afford it. He’s barely scraping by as it is, and God only knows how he’s going to manage the need to move. He’s been in the same building for eleven years and rent’s gone up twice, and it’s still cheaper than most other places. Even if he does find someplace that doesn’t cost more, he’ll have to come up with the first month’s rent and the security deposit ahead of time, and then there’s the fact that he’s going to have to replace pretty much everything he owns that he didn’t manage to gather up for his temporary stay in the Archives; Jon and Sasha came back from getting their things and informed him regretfully that Mrs. Mattson had already thrown out what was left in his old flat and rented it out again. Add in the fact that he has to make up almost half of the fees at the home his mother insisted on moving into, and he’s not going to have the spare funds for, well, anything. Let alone therapy.

He sighs heavily and tries to sit up. It’s nice of Tim to let him sleep in the recliner, but when he first wakes up, it’s a bit of a struggle. And he honestly can’t figure out how he keeps lying back, since he’s pretty sure he falls asleep still sitting up. Maybe he’s doing it in his sleep, or maybe he’s just so tired he doesn’t remember settling back. Whatever it is, he discovered yesterday that it’s hard for him to use the appropriate strength to manipulate the recliner back into an upright position. Or at least to do it quietly. The others are still asleep—as far as he knows—and he doesn’t want to disturb them. He can tell himself all he wants that they need rest, that they deserve to have their sleep uninterrupted, that it’s been a rough couple of days for them too, but if he’s being honest it cycles back to his fear of the consequences of disturbing his mother while she was resting. Nine years and he still can’t make himself turn on a light before sunrise if the door isn’t firmly shut or listen to music without headphones after four in the afternoon. He wonders if he’ll ever be free.

The handle engages suddenly and the footrest goes down with a deceptively soft thwump that rocks Martin forward abruptly. He bites back a gasp of pain and waits for the world to stop swimming.

“Martin?”

The whispered call from not far away makes him flinch. Martin looks up, apologies ready on his lips, then realizes he’s not wearing his glasses and has no idea who was talking. He fumbles for them and puts them on just as Jon steps carefully around the end of the coffee table and perches on the end of the sofa next to him.

“I heard you starting to wake up,” Jon says softly. He holds something out—a mug. “I, ah, I was making tea anyway, so I thought…”

“O-oh.” Martin blinks in surprise and reaches out carefully to take the mug. “Ah, thank you?”

Their fingers brush, and it’s all Martin can do not to drop the mug or spill it on himself. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks. God, it’s probably visible even with no lights.

“You’re welcome. I—you do so much for us. It seemed like high time someone did something for you for a change.” Jon pauses, then adds, “I hope I got it right. I—I know I haven’t exactly asked, but it—it seemed like what I remembered from after dinner?”

Martin takes a cautious sip of the tea and nearly chokes in surprise. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He can just make out Jon’s unfairly attractive smile before he brings his own mug to his lips. They sit in silence for a long moment, both of them seemingly lost in thought. Martin isn’t sure how much he’s actually thinking, though, beyond panicking slightly. It’s the first time he’s been alone with Jon, really, since he started living in the Archives. And after the last couple of days…he still has no idea where the two of them stand. If they’re on a friendlier footing, if they’ve found common ground, or if things are going to go back to normal once the initial shock wears off.

“What time is it?” he finally asks.

“About four in the morning. You’ve been asleep roughly nine hours.”

Martin exhales. “Christ, I had no idea I fell asleep that early.”

Jon tilts his head slightly. “Well, you’re healing. You’re likely going to do a fair amount of sleeping. We tried to keep it down.”

“I don’t mean to be an inconvenience like that,” Martin says, his stomach twisting. The idea that everyone has to be quiet because of him…

“Don’t be ridiculous, Martin, you’re not an inconvenience.” Jon sets his mug down on the table and turns to face Martin fully. “I—I know I’ve been overly critical of you over the last year. I really am sorry. I never meant to—I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“It’s—”

“Don’t say it’s all right. It isn’t. You’ve never been anything but diligent and conscientious, you’ve always gone above and beyond, and I—” Jon exhales. “The truth is, I-I was scared. I didn’t feel…adequate. Like I wasn’t up for the task. I didn’t—I never applied for this job either. Elias picked me, and I had no idea why. I don’t have a background in library science, o-or administration or anything like that. I couldn’t have told you why he offered me the job, but…well, I’m not sure I could have said no if I’d wanted to. A-and then you turned up in my office and said Elias had appointed you, and…I honestly thought he’d sent you to keep an eye on me. To, to report back to him if I stepped out of line or didn’t do the job properly. And then Rosie gave me a copy of your CV and I saw how long you’d been with the Institute, and all your credentials—”

“Most of which were fake.”

“Which I didn’t know at the time. I—I got intimidated.” Jon gives a small laugh. “I saw someone with more experience than all three of us put together and I thought, God, he wanted this job and didn’t get it and now he’s going to be reporting back to Elias every time I step out of line. I kept putting you down on the official recordings because—I don’t know, maybe part of me was hoping it would influence things in my favor if there was ever a dispute? And…I think I was projecting a lot of my own insecurities onto you. I am deeply sorry.”

Well, Jon won’t let him say it’s all right, but…Martin swallows hard and tries to smile. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry, too. I should have told you the truth sooner, but…I don’t know. I was afraid you’d fire me.”

“Considering the first interaction we ever had was me threatening you over that dog, I’d be afraid I’d fire me too.” Jon pauses. “I wonder what would have happened if I’d actually tried.”

Martin actually doesn’t want to think about it. He looks into the depths of the mug in his hands, then sets it on the end table where his glasses were previously. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t—oh, you mean the ‘I heard you starting to wake up’ thing? I was already awake.” Jon sighs. “I honestly don’t sleep very well these days. I-it’s not just the nightmares, it’s also…the worrying. About you. All three of you, really, but—you in particular.”

“Me?” Martin’s voice is louder than he means it to be. Tim grunts from somewhere else in the room and both Martin and Jon freeze, but after a moment he makes an odd sort of snorfling sound and seems to settle back into sleep. Martin rubs a hand over his mouth, trying to be careful of the bandages.

“Why me?” he asks, remembering to whisper this time.

Jon is silent for a moment. Martin is about to apologize for having asked when he says, “I could be glib and say it’s because you were the one being stalked by Jane Prentiss, and that is part of it, but…it’s also just that it’s you. It’s not that I don’t think you can take care of yourself just as well as Tim or Sasha can. I do. It’s…I really wasn’t sure before the last couple of days why that was. I’m still not completely sure, but I think I have a bit of a better idea.”

“We worry about you, too, you know.” Martin desperately wants to ask what Jon’s idea is, but he also doesn’t want to pry. “Ask, erm, Martin Prime. I asked him what I could do to help and he said not to let you get hurt and I kind of panicked a little.”

Jon chuckles. “I suppose that is a next-to-impossible task.”

“No, I mean I panicked at the idea that you would get hurt,” Martin says. He wonders how much he can say without betraying how he feels. The Primes are close friends, that much is obvious, but he and Jon aren’t anywhere near that point and he doesn’t want to ruin his chances of even that by blurting out that he’s fallen for his boss like a ton of bricks. This is also probably not the time to bring it up. They’re all a bit…emotionally compromised right now, and he’s still not sure what’s going to happen when the adrenaline of the last two days wears off. Even if Jon’s just said he worries about Martin. Fleetingly, he wonders if Martin Prime ever told Jon Prime how he felt and when, and he wishes it was a question he thought to ask while they had some time alone in the last week. “I-I mean, that was my biggest worry when I realized Jane Prentiss had followed me home, you know? I wasn’t just worried about what she’d do to me. I was worried she might…follow me to the Archives. Come after one of you, but especially you. A-and then when she texted you after I made my statement…” He sighs. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. But there was a part of me thinking that if I needed to stay in the Archives, maybe the rest of you should have too, you know?”

“No, you’re—you’re not wrong. Truthfully, that was one of the things that I kept obsessing over last night,” Jon confesses in a low voice. “When I saw—when I realized—” He breaks off and looks away. “All I could think was that something had happened, that you could be hurt, and that you’d been alone and—God, I should have insisted we all stay. Or that you come stay with one of us from the outset. Although in retrospect…I’m not certain what would have happened if your counterpart had been alone in the Archives at the time. Not that I knew he was there, but…”

“Yeah,” Martin says quietly. He swallows against the sudden, unexpected lump in his throat. “I’m—I’m still glad you weren’t there, though. I-I was glad when it happened, and I was even more glad when I saw Jon Prime and…honestly, Jon, this sucks. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Least of all you. O-or Tim,” he adds hastily. “Or Sasha, but, I mean, she didn’t…not in their timeline, anyway.”

“No, but…that doesn’t mean we wanted you to have to get hurt, either,” Jon says. “It’s not exactly a fair trade.” He looks up at Martin. “A-are you in pain? Do you need your painkillers?”

The answer is yes, but Martin fights the urge to nod. “They, ah, they have to be taken with food. It’s—it’s not as bad as it was yesterday, at least.”

“Hold on. I think I can help with that.”

“Jon—” Martin begins, but it’s too late. Jon has already stood up from the sofa and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

Martin swears under his breath in Polish, then manages to get to his feet without hurting himself. He carefully picks up both mugs of tea and follows Jon, a bit more slowly. Partly it’s the pain, partly it’s force of habit. He doesn’t know where the joists or creaky floorboards might be, and it’s still early, he can’t risk waking people up because he’s walking too loudly. He’s already had one close call too many tonight.

He makes it to the kitchen. Jon is messing about with something, using the night-light mounted above the sink to see by. Martin can’t see what he’s doing. He sets the mugs down carefully on the table and asks, “What are you doing?”

Jon jumps and whirls around, brandishing a butter knife in one hand. He relaxes. “Martin—I didn’t hear you come in. I—I just thought—” He gestures at the counter. “It’s not much, but I thought I’d make you a sandwich at least. Get something in your stomach so you can take the pills.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” Martin protests, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I-I can wait until—”

“I’m sure you can, but there’s no reason you should,” Jon says briskly. “It’s been enough time that you’re certainly able to take your painkillers, and you need them, so why wait and make yourself feel worse?”

There’s a certain amount of logic in that, Martin has to admit. “I just…don’t want to be a bother.”

Jon places a sandwich in front of him firmly and lays a hand on his arm. “Martin,” he says sincerely, “the last thing you are is a bother. Sit down and eat. I’ll be right back.”

He heads out of the kitchen, leaving Martin incredibly confused and slightly embarrassed.

Lacking any better option, he sits down to eat the sandwich Jon has made for him. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it’s certainly not what he bites into. The first taste of it on his tongue almost makes him cry, and he closes his eyes, savoring it.

He hears footsteps and swallows hastily, opening his eyes as Jon comes back into the room. He sets the pill bottle next to Martin’s elbow, then sits down next to him and picks up his mug of tea. “Is it all right?”

“It’s perfect,” Martin says before he thinks it through and almost swallows his tongue. Oh, well, no taking it back now—best to press forward. “I didn’t know Tim ate cherry preserves.”

“I don’t think he does. He teased me a bit about being ‘elitist’ the first time he saw me eating them.”

Martin stops mid-chew and definitely swallows a too-solid bite. It takes him a second before he’s able to speak. “You like them, too?”

Jon’s eyes widen. “Too? I—I mean, obviously you like them, you’re eating the sandwich—God, I didn’t even think to ask, I just assumed…”

“No, it’s—I’ve always liked them,” Martin says. “My—my granddad had a couple cherry trees in his backyard. He used to make preserves every year, and…I dunno. They just remind me of visiting him.” He takes another bite of the sandwich.

Jon nods thoughtfully. “I’ve always been fond of cherry preserves. Well, cherry anything, actually. My grandmother used to bake cherry pies on my birthday in lieu of a cake.”

Martin smiles. “Granddad always did that for me, too.”

“I’ll remember that for next year.” Jon smiles, too.

For a few minutes, there’s silence as Martin finishes the sandwich. When the last bite is gone, Jon takes the plate and gets up to wash it while Martin struggles for a moment to get the cap off the pill vial and shake out a painkiller. The moment feels oddly…domestic. Calm. Cosy. Martin isn’t sure what to do with it, but he decides to try and let himself enjoy it. It’s never worked for him before, but he can give it a shot.

Finally, Jon sits back down next to him. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” It’s not just the painkiller, which probably hasn’t actually started to work yet. It’s the tea, and the sandwich, and Jon being nice. He tries to figure out how to articulate it, then finally says, “It’s the first time in I don’t know how long that I don’t feel afraid.”

Jon exhales. “I know the feeling. I mean—I know I should be. The world is objectively terrifying, and learning what we learned today made that exponentially worse. But…this right here? I’m definitely calmer and more relaxed than I’ve been since I took the Archivist job.”

Something in Martin’s chest warms at the comment. It probably isn’t meant like that, but it’s nice to hear he’s not making Jon stressed by his mere presence, at least. And, hey, he can dream. All he says, though, is, “’S nice.”

“It is.” Jon takes a sip of his tea and stares into it for a moment, then snorts softly and shakes his head.

“What?”

“It’s just…something my counterpart said. While we were talking outside. I hadn’t thought about it before, but…he’s right.” Jon looks up. “He told me he hasn’t finished a cup of tea in years that—that his Martin hasn’t made for him. It just occurred to me that I’m the same way. Even when…those two weeks you weren’t in the office? When Jane Prentiss was—” He swallows hard. “I just realized that I would brew myself a cup of tea and it would just…sit on my desk and get cold. I never managed to drink more than half of it. I suppose it just tastes better when you make it.”

Martin doesn’t know quite how to respond to that. “You make tea just fine. This is perfect.”

Jon hums noncommittally. He seems to be debating with himself, then sighs. “You’re far more observant than I am at times…you know they’re together, right?”

Martin’s brain pulls up short. “Wait, what?”

“Our…counterparts. The Primes. They’re—they love each other. He told me that when I asked him, and…God, in retrospect, it’s so obvious. I-I suppose I just didn’t see it.” Jon looks suddenly nervous as he scans Martin’s face. “You’re more…in tune with that sort of thing than I. You did know, didn’t you?”

“N-no,” Martin manages to stammer out. Oh, God, he can feel his cheeks heating up. Jon’s right, though, in retrospect it’s obvious. He thinks about all the little interactions the Primes have had with one another, the way they both fuss over each other, the way they seem to know what the other is thinking. The lighthearted, affectionate banter, the near-constant physical contact. Jon Prime rubbing his thumb over Martin Prime’s knuckles to calm himself when he gets overwhelmed, Martin Prime reaching for Jon Prime instinctively when he needs a hand up.

Then, suddenly, he remembers the way Martin Prime spoke about the person who was coming back to meet him, when he assured Martin that if they’ve come through somewhere else, they’re looking for me. Logically, he knows now that person was Jon Prime, but he somehow didn’t make the connection between the two. It’s as if his brain saw Jon Prime walk in and instantly erased every conclusion that conversation made him come to. It didn’t occur to him, at the time, that Jon would even bother to bring him back in time with him, let alone be looking for him. Now he takes a mental step back, re-evaluates every moment between the Primes in light of that conversation, and wants to smack himself on the forehead for being an idiot.

“You’re right, though. I really should have figured that out sooner,” he murmurs. “God knows I had enough information to put it together. Guess I just assumed there couldn’t possibly be a universe where I—”

He snaps off the words as quickly as he can. Oh, God, he really almost said it out loud. Almost let Jon know how he feels. He’s not stupid, the Primes have a lot more history between them than he and Jon do, and he doesn’t doubt for a minute that they haven’t been together long, relatively speaking. Probably only since Jon Prime rescued Martin Prime from the Lonely. The circumstances that led them to this point are ones they’re trying to undo, and Martin seriously doubts he and Jon will ever get to that point. It’s best if he tries to let this thing die now and be happy for his counterpart getting this much.

Jon looks like he wants to ask him a question, but doesn’t. Instead, he says quietly, “They weren’t going to tell you. Us, I suppose, but…I asked him. How he felt about his Martin. Mostly because I was trying to figure out how I felt about you, and I thought knowing his thoughts would help untangle mine.”

Martin has to try twice before he can get the words out. “Did it?”

Jon gives a small, humorless laugh. “Not really. In truth, it just made things more confusing. I…” He rubs his thumb against the knuckle of his index finger, the same nervous tic Jon Prime uses when he doesn’t have Martin Prime’s hand to hold. “I-I got scared when I arrived at the Institute the other night. I was…there was all that chaos, all those lights and sirens and activity, and—and I realized you weren’t in the crowd. All I could think of was that there’d been a fire and you hadn’t woken in time, or that you’d been trapped and been…burned or breathed in too much of the CO2 or something. I tried to—they wouldn’t let me in after you. Obviously. That makes perfect sense, but…at the time, all I could think of was that you were in there a-and I needed to get to you, that I needed to know you were safe. I was staring at the idea of a world without you and I couldn’t face it. And then…Elias told me Tim and Sasha were down there, and then mentioned Jane Prentiss, and it all got worse and…I don’t know, Martin, I’m rambling. But Tim’s right. I was—I must’ve shouted down half a dozen officials trying to get one of them to tell me where you were, how you were, to—to let me see you. Everyone kept saying you were going to be all right, but I knew I wouldn’t believe it until I saw you.”

“I—I mean, if it had been Sasha or Tim—” Martin begins.

“I don’t know how I would have reacted if it had been them who was hurt. I was definitely worried about them, but…I don’t know.” Jon takes a deep breath. “I’ll be honest. I still don’t really know how I feel. I—I do care about you. I worry about you, I want you to be safe. Beyond that, I—I’m afraid I don’t know.” He manages a small, slightly roguish smile. “I don’t suppose you know how you feel.”

“Oh, Christ,” Martin practically whines. This is not how he wanted any of this to come out, and he doesn’t know if he should say it.

Then it occurs to him that Jon didn’t ask. Jon, who has just learned that he’s developing the ability to force people to answer his questions, and who is probably more likely to do it when he’s tired or stressed out, deliberately avoided actually asking a question. It’s a simple statement. He’s giving Martin permission to not say a word if he doesn’t want to.

Which…actually, weirdly, makes him want to.

He takes a deep breath. “O-okay. The truth is…I’ve kind of had a crush on you for a while. I wasn’t going to say anything, because it’s—I mean, I didn’t want to make things weird, a-and I know you—I was just trying for ‘he doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot’ for a while there. I also thought it was just a stupid workplace crush, and I was kind of hoping it would eventually go away on its own. It didn’t. Ever since I started living in the Archives, it’s just got worse. I guess that’s why I didn’t realize how the Primes felt about each other. I kind of thought I was projecting, o-or seeing what I wanted to see, maybe? I don’t know. But I do worry, and I do…I do care.”

“That’s not why you went back to Carlos Vittery’s apartment, is it?” Jon’s voice is so soft Martin almost doesn’t hear it, but his eyes are worried. “Because you thought I…?”

“No,” Martin assures him. “No, I—you know, I know I said I was trying to ‘make sure I’d done my due diligence’ and all that, but what was behind that was that I’d been…I felt pressured to go back. Like a nagging, persistent headache. I get it all the time, really, when I’m doing research. Remember when you sent me to track down that…that Angela woman? For the—”

“The man who was falling to pieces. I remember.”

“I know you got exasperated with me, but I literally couldn’t stop until I’d talked to every Angela I could find. I’d think ‘well, I’m not going to find her, I’m going back to the Institute now,’ but I’d get this blinding headache and it wouldn’t go away until I went ‘okay, just one more.’ It’s only got worse as time goes on. So no, I didn’t…get myself into this mess because I was trying to impress you or whatever.” Martin can’t help the small, nervous chuckle that escapes him. “’Course, if it did impress you, I wouldn’t complain.”

“What impressed me was that you kept your head well enough to survive and get back to your apartment, never mind the Institute,” Jon says warmly. “If it were me, I’d likely have done something stupid like go back for my phone when I realized I’d dropped it.” He sighs. “I—I don’t want to make things awkward. But I also don’t want to…promise anything.”

“I don’t expect anything, Jon.” Martin learned a long time ago not to expect anything. As far as he’s concerned, the phrase good things come to those who wait is inapplicable. In his case, it’s more like good things come to those who aren’t you. He has friends, in Tim and Sasha at least. That’s more than he probably deserves.

Jon studies him for a moment, then smiles slightly and holds out his hand. “How about I apologize for being such an ass to you, and we start with friends and see where it goes from there?”

This is the last thing Martin would have ever anticipated, but he’s certainly not going to object. He smiles in reply and takes Jon’s hand. “Deal.”

They shake on it—very gently, Jon is careful of the healing wounds on Martin’s hands—and then sit back. Jon studies Martin. “Did they tell you how long you’ll need to wear the bandages?”

“Until things stop bleeding when I take them off?” Martin shrugs. “Hopefully not too long. Some of them are…deeper than others. I’m supposed to make an appointment with my regular doctor for a follow-up in a couple of weeks.”

“We’ll make sure you get there safely,” Jon promises. He picks up his mug and salutes Martin with it. “After all, what are friends for?”

Martin grins, feeling more relaxed than he’s felt in a while, and salutes Jon back. “What indeed?”

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #mentions of emotional abuse #acts of service as a love language

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myheartrevealedocs · 4 years

Text

Untouchable Ch 13- Home, Again

Warnings: swearing, mentions of torture and injuries, family drama and stuff? (if there’s something in this chapter that you want me to tag, let me know, I’m just not sure what to classify some of this stuff as)

Ch 12 | Ch 14

~ ~ ~

Beck threw herself into her sister’s arms as Lydia entered the waiting room.

“Thank god. Lydia, I’m so sorry, but I’m so scared. Watching her fall apart like that, then start seizing- What would we do if we lost her? What would I do? The system will take in Katie and Adam, but I… I’d be alone.”

Lydia pulled away to look into her sister’s cloudy eyes. “You will never be alone. If something actually happened to Sonia, you could come to DC with me in a heartbeat. Please don’t ever think I’d leave you alone.”

“You hate me,” Beck claimed. Her face was a blotchy mess and she didn’t make it any better be rubbing her hands over it frustratedly. She’d recently cut her hair short, which was perhaps the only thing stopping her from ripping it out. “I’ve been such an ass. I wouldn’t blame you if you left me here and went back to Virginia. I don’t have a job, I don’t have a college degree, I don’t even know how to drive a car! I’m useless!”

“You aren’t useless,” Lydia insisted, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You’re stubborn. You were angry. But you know who knows even more about anger than you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m guessing you, you menace?”

They both giggled, Rebecca hiccuping slightly through more tears.

“So, you won’t leave me to be a homeless prostitute?”

“Not this month,” Lydia joked. “What have you heard? Did they dissolve the blood clot?”

Beck nodded. “It’s gone. Now the only concern is figuring out how much damage it did.”

“Okay. Well then, one of us should stay here and wait for news and the other has to take Katie and Adam home and get them to bed. I really think you could use the rest, but I’m okay with either.”

The two twins were seated in the corner of the room. Katie was asleep across the armrest between her and her brother’s chair. Adam looked bored out of his mind, picking at his fingernails.

Beck looked back at them, then bit down on her bottom lip. “I need to make sure she’s okay. I don’t think I could fall asleep if I went home anyway.”

Lydia could understand that. She gave her sister a nod, before stepping around her and approaching the kids. “Hey Adam. Long time, no see!”

He pushed himself out of his chair quickly and wrapped his arms around Lydia’s waist. “Hi Lydie! Why didn’t you come home for Christmas this year?”

“I had to work,” she admitted, feigning disgust.

“You have to see the Legos that Becky got me! I already built them all!”

“That’s so cool! You’ll have to show me once we get home.”

He bounced excitedly, turning around to wake up his sister. “Katie! Lydie’s here!”

The girl blinked, rubbing her face where it was previously squished against her arm. “Adam,” she grumbled. “What do you want?”

Lydia knelt down next to her seat. “Hey Katie,” she said, softly. “I’m here to take you two hooligans home.”

Katie blinked, recognizing Lydia’s voice and her silly nickname for the twins. “Lydie? Mommy didn’t say you were coming home.”

Lydia didn’t want to freak them out by making them think the stroke was a big deal, so she held up a finger to her lips and said, “Sonia doesn’t know yet. It’s a surprise.”

“Is mommy sick?” Adam asked. “Becky said she was hurt, but when I hurt my arm, I didn’t have to stay at the doctor’s this long.”

“Mommy did get hurt,” Lydia admitted. “But she’s super strong. Right now, you two have to get some sleep. In your own beds. Okay?”

They nodded and followed her out, saying their goodbyes to Rebecca as they passed. Lydia called a cab to meet them outside and take them back to Sonia’s house.

As they were packing in, her phone rang. Spencer. Shit…

“Spence, hey…” she began, but couldn’t for the life of her come up with anything else to say.

“Lydia? Hotch told us that you had a family emergency, what happened?? Are you okay? Did you get home?”

She sighed, relieved he wasn’t angry about her sudden disappearance. They’d just been talking face to face and then she was on her way to the airport. “Can we start with one questions at a time? I’m so tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he agreed, quickly. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m leaving a hospital in Oakland, California, on my way to my foster mom, Sonia’s, house.”

“Why were you at the hospital?”

“Sonia had a stroke.”

“That’s awful. I’m sorry. What kind of stroke?”

“Uh… I’m not sure? I didn’t speak to any of the doctors directly.”

“Do you know if she had a hemorrhage or-?”

“No. No, it was a blot clot.”

“That’s good!” he said immediately. “The chances of surviving a ischemic stroke are higher than a hemorrhagic stroke. There’s also a higher likelihood of a full recovery.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Spence. How did the case go?”

“We found and recovered all the kids, but Jane and Frank disappeared.”

“Oh no…” she fretted. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you talking about? You weren’t even in Nevada when it happened.”

“But I was… I told him we could negotiate for Jane and-”

“You saw her,” Spencer reasoned. “She was throwing herself at him. Frank would have gotten away either way and Jane would have followed him. You helped us get those kids back.”

“When did you become so good at cheering me up?” she teased. He didn’t reply, so she kept going. “Spencer, I should go. I’m almost at Sonia's house. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Tomorrow.”

~ ~ ~

“Lydia? What are you doing here?” Sonia demanded as Lydia walked into her room the next morning.

“What are you doing in a hospital bed?” she fired back. “You went and scared the hell out of us!”

“Honey, I’m old. It happens.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Not old enough. You’re like… one of the least likely people to get a stroke. You’re 50, you’re a woman, you’re Asain… do you have any blood pressure problems I don’t know about?”

“Apparently I have blood pressure problems that I don’t even know about,” she chuckled, trying not to focus on how bad that could be. “Since when do you know so much about stroke statistics?”

Lydia was perfectly ready to tell her that she’d done a bunch of research at the airport, but it was a lie. Spencer had been sending her little tidbits of information all day. Some to try to cheer her up, others to help prepare her for how Sonia’s recovery might go. As she thought about those texts, a smile pulled at her lips and Sonia was on her in an instant.

“What’s that? That smile. You just got all blushy on me, what happened?”

“I work with profilers and somehow you’re already onto my little secret, hm?” She rubbed her forehead. “You should probably go work for my team if you’re going to be so observational.”

“You should probably stop being so obvious,” she argued. “You’ve got a crush written all over you. Did he tell you about the stroke statistics?”

“His name is Spencer, he texted them to me to make me feel better, and I’m not crushing on him.”

“Oh please!” she cried. “Your cheeks are bright red! I know a crush when I see one. Tell me about this Spencer. Where did you meet him?”

“We work together. And I’m not lying, I’m not crushing on Spencer… because we’ve been dating for almost a year now.”

“You what?!” she exclaimed. “Lydia, you have to tell me these things! Almost a year?”

“Yeah. It started last year in April.”

“Why would you hide this from me? Look at you! You’re so happy!”

Lydia bit her tongue in contemplation. Why hadn’t she told her family? “Because I’ve been keeping it a secret anyway. None of the team knows we’re together. We never agreed that we wouldn’t tell our families, but… I don’t know, I guess I got so caught up in the lie that I didn’t even think about telling you guys.”

“Why are you hiding?” Sonia asked.

“Our work.” Lydia shrugged. “When we went on our first date, we didn’t want the whole team to be invested in a relationship that might not last. We didn’t want things to get weird. But now, it feels wrong, you know? Our boss wouldn’t be happy if he found out that we’ve been lying to him all this time. Spencer’s an agent, so in-office relationships are frowned upon for him.”

Lydia’s phone buzzed in her hand and instinctively, she looked down at it.

“Did he just text you?” Sonia teased.

Lydia glared back. “Fucking profilers.”

~ ~ ~

“Katie! Adam!” Lydia called as she shuffled upstairs.

“Hold on!” Katie’s muffled squealing came from the twin’s room.

Lydia smiled at what she could only imagine to be wild shenanigans going on behind that door. But, she turned and walked farther down the hall, opening up the door to Sonia’s room.

She’d been let go from the hospital after about a week, and had been recovering quickly. Lydia was glad to see her sitting up in bed stretching her arms out in front of her. Her left arm was weak and shook dramatically, but it was an improvement.

“Good morning, Sonia,” she greeted, walking over to the side of her bed. “Make sure to do your leg stretches as well today. I know they’re uncomfortable, but if you don’t build up that strength again, you’re going to end up with only one working leg. I want you to think about how frustrating that would be.”

She dropped her head back. “You’re right. That would be awful. Then I’d look like you.”

“Very funny,” Lydia deadpanned. “But my leg works fine, thank you. At this point, I’d say better than yours. But nevermind that, I won’t be here and neither will the car. If something happens, Beck will handle it and I’ll be back before your physical therapy appointment, okay?”

Lydia leaned down and gave her foster mother a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m ready, Lydie!” Adam shouted as he burst into the room. His backpack hung loosely from his shoulders, seeing as there probably wasn’t more in it than a folder.

“Is Katie ready?” she asked.

“No. Katie’s tying her shoes.”

“Oh, well then she’s almost ready. Let’s start heading down, shall we?”

He nodded, eagerly. “Bye, Mommy!” he said, before scurrying downstairs.

“Bye, Sonia,” Lydia followed suit, closing the door behind her as she left. “Beck?”

Her sister popped her head out of the bathroom, only half her makeup done, looking thoroughly unamused. “Must you be so loud?”

“Make sure Sonia gets up soon,” she ordered. “I won’t have my phone with me, so if something happens, call the doctor.”

“Won’t have your phone…?” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you not coming back after dropping the twin’s off?”

“No. I thought Sonia told you.”

“Told me what?”

“I’m ready!” Katie cried, rushing down the stairs to meet her brother.

“Head out to the car, little hooligans!” Lydia instructed. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Where are you going?” Beck tried again.

Lydia sighed. “I’m visiting Dad today.”

~ ~ ~

Not that visiting a prison was ever a pleasant experience, but Lydia was comforted to find the place exactly the same. She had enough anxiety going in as is, but trying to navigate new rules or requirements would have made it ten times worse. Her dad didn’t even seem to notice her walk into the room, sitting alone at a table, staring intently at a wall.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Um, hey Dad.”

He blinked at her for a moment, before pulling her into a hug. “Lydia! Look at you! You’ve changed so much, sweetheart!”

She shrunk away from him, slightly as he spoke, both because the guards would yell at them if they were in contact for too long and because it had been so long. It was just weird.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “It’s been a crazy two years.”

“I hear,” he said, the two of them sitting across from one another. “Rebecca tells me that you work for the FBI full-time now.”

“Not exactly. I’m contracted out by one of their teams. Sometimes I’m home for a few weeks, other times we solve one case and fly straight to the next. It isn’t exactly 9 to 5.”

“I’m really proud of you.” He smiled and Lydia’s lip twitched as well. “I was shocked to hear you were coming. Rebecca says you very rarely visit.”

“I’m not in California for a visit,” she admitted. “Sonia had a stroke, so I’ve taken some time off work to look out for her and the other kids in her care.”

Her dad had warmed up to Sonia over the years, seeing as she had to escort Lydia and Beck to the prison when they were still minors. He looked genuinely sad to hear the news. “That’s terrible. Tell her I hope she gets well soon.”

“I will. It was pretty mild it seems. She’s regaining strength quickly.”

They didn’t have the time for this small talk. Her father knew that. But Lydia almost hoped that they could keep the conversation going. As if he wasn’t an inmate in a prison. As if they weren’t being watched carefully. As if she didn’t have mixed feelings about speaking to him.

“So, Lydia, why did you come?”

Lydia blinked, pushing up her glasses habitually. “What do you mean? I haven’t seen you for two years…”

“I know,” he chuckled. “But if you wanted to come say hi to me, you’d do it when you were visiting home. Not when you’re busy taking care of a whole family.”

“Well… your sentence is almost done. Seven years… And I was talking to Sonia about it and she asked when the last time I saw you was… I felt bad.” She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Because he knew that wasn’t it. “I haven’t really… told anyone in DC that my dad’s in prison. And with this new job, I talk to serial killers. I learn a lot about them, get into their heads. And in the end, we always put them away. And now I see prison in this whole different light and I think I needed to prove to myself that you… you aren’t one of the bad guys.”

“Okay, so… how do I prove I’m not a bad guy?” he asked.

“You don’t. You just-” Lydia’s eyes started to burn and she stopped herself from getting emotional. “I wanted to see you. That’s all. Recently, it feels like I can’t remember much about anyone in the family.”

“Is this about your mom?”

“I don’t know what this is about,” she rambled. “I just… I was finally starting to be okay in college and then, the whole Jenna thing happened and I was an angry monster again. And when I realized I had settled down, I was a different person. I worked for the FBI for crying out loud! And I’m looking at the people around me, and they look different, too, but I can’t figure out if it’s them who’ve changed or just my view of them. And I’ve always-”

She was tearing up again. Lydia gritted her teeth, feeling frustrated. She came here to check up on him, not have a meltdown. But if she shut down, he would keep bugging her about it, so might as well keep going.

“I’ve always been so mad at you,” she said, gnashing her teeth like an animal. “And then I’m looking through a serial killer's house and all I can think is, ‘At least my dad didn’t become this’. And I feel guilty that I’ve been so hard on you for seven years. So, I came here because I needed to prove to myself that this face belongs to my dad and not a bad guy.”

“Could it be both?”

Lydia glared at him, but didn’t have anything to say. She didn’t need the ambiguous question right now.

“Lydia, I know what I did was stupid and it hurt people. And all the excuses I made for it at the time don’t justify my actions. I wasn’t wrongfully accused and I’m not trying to pretend I was.”

“I don’t want to have an argument with you,” she grumbled. “I want to look at you with my new profiling eyes and determine whether it’s worth rebuilding a relationship with you when you get out.”

That shut him up. Lydia’s face burned in shame, but there was no taking it back. They sat there in silence for what felt like years. She didn’t know what there was to say. It had been on her mind for months now that his release was approaching. She’d considered Beck to be her only family for almost 7 years. Her father was a distant memory. But maybe when his time was up… maybe it’d be nice to have a dad again. But she had sworn at 16 never to forgive him.

“Did you decide?” he asked, his voice grim.

Why did she have to decide? Why couldn’t someone tell her that she was going to have to learn to live with or without him and be done with it? Why did it have to be her to walk away or make the effort. Shouldn’t family come naturally?

But for now, at least, she knew what she wanted.

“I want my family back. I don’t want to leave California one day and never have a reason to come back… I want to know my mom… And maybe, just maybe, I want to remember my dad, too. Because somewhere in the far recesses of my mind, he was a cool dude.”

“I’m sorry that I ever left you,” he said.

Finally, Lydia felt a sense of relief. She stood up. “I need to go, Dad. Luckily, the next time I see you, you probably won’t be behind bars.” And then, she opened up her arms, welcoming him in for a hug.

For the past seven years, she’d never been the one to initiate a hug with her father, but it felt like it was time. Her stubbornness had kept her from too much. She’d missed out on so many opportunities to be happy all because she was hinged on being in complete control of the image of herself that other’s saw. And she hadn’t felt like she’d had a parental figure in a long time.

He accepted quickly. “Go be an amazing bad-guy-catcher,” he teased.

“I will,” she replied with a smile. “Keep being a neutral guy, alright?”

As she headed for the door, he said, “Lydia? One more thing…”

She raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“Happy birthday.”

He remembered. She didn’t expect him to, for some reason. She didn’t really expect him to know the exact date.

“I love you,” she told him, but didn’t wait around to hear his response. She didn’t plan on spilling any tears today.

~ ~ ~

“You’re hunched over your computer like Quasimodo,” Rebecca joked as she dropped a bowl of ice cream next to her sister.

Poor Lydia was so wrapped up in her paper, she didn’t even notice the gift, ignoring the dessert completely. “I need Spencer,” she admitted. “He’d be able to give me more accurate information than these pathetic websites.”

“Why don’t you call him?” Sonia offered from across the table.

“He told me this morning that he was leaving for a case. Really bad one, too. He doesn’t need the distraction.”

Beck rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re actually going to get a PhD for this guy.”

“I’m not getting this for Spencer,” she tried to argue. “But I mean, look at me! I’m set to graduate in the spring. Have you ever seen someone get a doctorate in 2 years? Spencer did that for me. I could become a college professor in about a year, all thanks to him. At 23 years old.”

“Don’t act like you’re not a genius all by yourself,” Beck grumbled. “Just because he’s super charismatic-” Lydia laughed out loud when she said that “-does not mean that he got you your PhD.”

“I’m not saying that!” she tried to argue. “Think about how much money I’ve saved! I mean, I was terrified when I took that internship at the BAU that once it was up, I’d be stuck. With this, I have so many options open that I-”

She paused, noticing her phone screen light up with Hotch’s name. Rebecca and Sonia gave her funny looks, but she held up a finger.

“My boss is calling me. Strange.”

“If he says you have to go back to Virginia, do it. You’ve taken enough to time off as it is,” Sonia instructed, but Lydia just rolled her eyes.

“Hey, Hotch,” she answered. “What’s up?”

“Lydia, I’m going to need your help with something…”

“That’s fine. Is it case related?”

“No it’s…” He sounded exhausted and Lydia wondered where he could be. It was 9 in California, so unless he was on the west coast, it was late. “Lydia, Reid has been taken captive by an unsub.”

Her heart stopped. Seeing her family's confused faces across from her, she jumped up from the table and rushed out of the room.

“What? I- What are you… How bad of an unsub?” she sputtered.

“He’s sending us a live feed of it. As of right now, Reid’s forehead has a large gash in it and one of his feet is mangled. We’re doing everything we can to find him.”

“Is there something I can do?” Her breathing was labored and her chest, constricting. This was all wrong. Spencer had to be okay. He needed to be…

“Lydia, Spencer’s strong. He’ll keep fighting until we can get to him. But I have a feeling when he gets out, he’s going to want to see your face.”

She was far too stressed to even consider what he was implying. “You want me to- I’m not sure if I can-”

“Two days. That’s all. I’ll get you a ticket to Georgia as soon as possible. He’ll need your support. Can you be here?”

Leaving suddenly, once again. But Spencer might need her. Hotch was certain he would. And after news like that… she’d need to see him for herself to even imagine that he was going to be okay.

“I’ll pack my things now. Send me that plane ticket and the case file. I need to know what to expect when I get there.”

“I’ll let you know if anything changes,” he assured her. “Thank you.”

She heard him hang up the phone, but didn’t move it away from her ear. All she could hear was her heartbeat in her ears, as if it was trying to break out. She blinked a couple of times and turned to see that her sister had followed her into the next room, eyes wide.

A tear slipped down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. “I need to go,” she told Beck and ran to her room to gather some things.

Tag List: @kris-stuff, @wooya1224, @spencerelds

#criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds oc #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #untouchable #untouchable ch13 #fanfiction #fanfic #oc #lydia ambers #aaron hotchner

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mass-hxsteria · 3 years

Text

Next time (#3 in series)

August 2017

The phone vibrated against the table; it’s relentless buzzing distracting Leon from the conversation with the son sitting across from him. The man tried hard to ignore it, keeping himself as engaged as possible with Philip’s story. Though they had spoken on the phone a few times, too much of this morning was spent in awkward small talk, neither of them sure how to approach the unique situation they were in. Now, finally, Leon had gotten his son talking, walls slowly diminishing as they got to know each other. Leon glanced briefly at the slew of missed calls as he silenced this one, trying to be subtle about his shift in attention. He tried to keep most of his focus on Philip, despite the gnawing agony of ignoring a work call. They would find someone else. This was the first time in 12 years this kid was speaking face-to-face with his father. How could he just leave right away? They had the whole weekend planned and this was only the first day. He barely began to push work from the forefront of his mind until, yet again, moments after the last ignored call, the phone began buzzing again.

“It’s okay. Just answer it.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll just be a second.” Leon answered the call, listening to the demand as he left the restaurant. As suspected, he was asked to come in. “Is there really no one else that can cover the surgery? Or can the appointment be pushed off? I’m across the country right now. Even if I get a flight, I won’t make it in until tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning it is then. We really need you to come in. We talked about this. You knew this was a chance when you left.”

“Right, okay, fine.” Leon sighed. He had known, but--maybe it was just wishful thinking--but the chances seemed so low. It felt worth the risk at the time that, if it happened, he would at least have had more time with his son first. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Leon hung up the phone, shaking his head, dreading going back in and telling Philip he had to leave right away. He knew having a relationship with his son wasn’t going to be easy, especially with him living in Boston and Philip and Elizabeth in Chicago. Still, he hadn’t expected it to go sideways quite so quickly. This weekend had taken weeks to plan and Philip had been so excited. Leon had too. Now, it was only going to last a few hours. If this was any indication of visits to come, he didn’t have a good feeling about it. He didn’t want to be the type of dad that only visited with his kid for a few hours a couple times a year, not after coming into Philip’s life so late.

He walked in, flagging down a waitress to ask for to-go boxes for the lunch, and pulling out his wallet as he made his way back to the table. “I’m so sorry dude, that was work. I’ve got to head back to Boston tonight.”

“Oh...” He had expected Philip to be disappointed. What he hadn’t anticipation was just how crushed he would feel himself, seeing the disappointment on his kid’s face, knowing he caused it.

“I know. I’ll come back next month and it will be longer, I promise.”

November 2017

Leon collapsed on the small airport chair, relaxing after hours of airport security. He pulled out his phone, seeing multiple missed calls from Elizabeth. His heart sank, there was no chance this could be good news. He opened his voicemail. “I’m sorry, Leon. I hope you’re not on the plane already; I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. My parents just came out to surprise Philip. I had no idea they were coming. They live so far, they can’t get out here much. I know you know what that’s like, but...” A long pause, a distant sigh. “Well they actually showed up.” There it was, Leon thought, the real reason she didn’t want him coming out. “Anyway, I tried to explain that he had plans with you and to let me know next time, but, well, you know how they can be. And I don’t want to send them all the way back to Florida just so he can spend half a day with you.” He leaned his head back, eyes shut. He knew Elizabeth was tired of Leon always disappointing Philip; she was the one who saw it more often than he did. What she never seemed to grasp was how difficult this was for him to. “I hope you understand. We’ll see you next time. Hopefully.”

January 2018

6AM Flight to Chicago - canceled

11AM Flight to Chicago - canceled

2PM Flight to Chicago - canceled

8PM Flight to Chicago - canceled

Leon tried to glance out the window, but all he could see was a sheet of ice. It was no wonder the flights were canceled. Stubbornly refusing to let this happen again, Leon began looking up routes to Chicago. Maybe the skies would be bad, but the roads could be better. 15 hours of driving time. The blizzard might add a few, but if he drove all night...

“Are you insane!?” Within seconds of Leon texting her his thoughts, Elizabeth was calling him and was, apparently, not pleased. “If it’s that bad out, stay there. You’ll get yourself killed if you try to drive out here.”

“I’ll be fine. It’ll clear up at some point.” He paused, sighed. “I can’t miss his birthday, of all days.” He admitted in a rare, vulnerable moment with his ex, unable to hide the dejection from his voice.

“He’ll understand. He’ll be disappointed, but it’s better than you doing something stupid. We’ll just make it work next time. Just be safe today. I know it’s been hard, but this will get easier.” Though short, this was the first real conversation he felt like he had had with Elizabeth this entire time; the first time it hadn’t ended in an argument. They managed to keep things civil in front of Philip, but he hadn’t yet brought himself to forgive her for what happened. She also never never quite forgave him for wanting to get rid of the kid in the first place.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right...” Her understanding tone throwing him off enough that he couldn’t help but agree with her. Still, he was starting to lose hope. In these past few months, Leon had yet to feel like anything but a failure of a father. He thought, not for the first time, that maybe he was right 13 years ago. He wasn’t cut out to be a father. Looking at the worsen blizzard outside, he briefly wondered if this was nature’s way of agreeing with him. He couldn’t bring himself to fully admit to her that’s why he was trying so hard, but he suspected she was starting to realize that herself. With a sigh, “Can I talk to him? I want to tell him myself.”

June 2018

Almost one year had gone by since the phone call that had completely changed Leon’s life. Despite only one truly successful visit and many mishaps, the man could easily say he wasn’t the same person since finding out he had a kid. His phone calls with Philip grew more frequent and more plans were being made. Even though things were slowly getting easier, he still always wished he had more time with his son. Thankfully, that was finally going to change by tomorrow. With Philip out of school for the summer, they had planned for him to fly out to Boston for two weeks. He was straightening up the apartment when he got a call from Elizabeth. He had expected this. The past few weeks her calls grew more frequent with questions, making plans, making sure Leon knew what he was doing before she let their son stay with him, that he was responsible enough for this.

“Hey. I’ve got everything all ready to go here. I’m picking him up at the airport at noon tomorrow, right?” He asked, but was greeted with a long pause. His face fell as he awaited the explanation.

“Philip broke his arm. He was out skateboarding with some friends and had a bad fall. He’s going to need surgery and he’ll be in a cast for a while. After that, physical therapy... I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to reschedule. With him healing, it might not be for a while.”

“Is he alright?”

“He’s in some pain, but it was a clean break. He’s a little upset about not being able to get out there. I know you were both looking forward to this. Maybe we’ll try again in August.”

“Yeah, we’ll figure it out. Just keep me posted on how he’s doing, alright? I’ll look at plane tickets and try to make it out there to help out before his surgery.” What he was most upset about was that he couldn’t be there for his kid during all this. He opened his laptop to look up flights to Chicago, but even then, what would that accomplish? If he was going to have trouble for a while, would Leon being there for a day really help at all? There was one other option: something that had been in the back of his mind for months now. He booked a flight for the next day and then switched gears, looking for apartments to rent in Chicago as well as jobs for plastic surgeons. With Elizabeth still on the line, he explained his thoughts, “I’ll be out there tomorrow. There’s something else I want to do while I’m there, but I’m going to need your help.”

To be continued...

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miafic · 4 years

Text

hi we are doing in-depth sexual assault discussion today and if that is not your thing, this is not your story.

one ~ two ~ three four ~ five ~ six ~ seven

---

“Hey, baby,” Zakk greeted as he walked up to Lucas’ chair and hugged him from behind.

Lucas turned his head to kiss him. “Hi.”

“How did your first session go?”

“It was good,” Lucas replied truthfully. “She’s really smart. And she’s no-nonsense, which is what I need.”

Zakk smiled. “Awesome!”

“Yeah. Um, I have homework,” he said, motioning to the piece of paper in front of him.

Zakk nodded, eyebrows raised.

“I have to make a list of all my responsibilities at Peace and Purpose and then make a list of everybody else’s responsibilities. The staff, I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“She had me start making it there, and when she saw how disproportionate it was, she said I need to hand some stuff off.”

Zakk took Lucas’ face in his hands. He leaned down so that their eyes were level. “What,” he began softly, “have I been telling you for years and years? Hmm?”

Lucas looked away, but Zakk kissed his forehead.

“I’m glad you’re finally listening to somebody. “

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if anything’s gonna get moved.”

“Can I see?”

Lucas slid the page over a few inches.

Zakk studied it. “Emails and paperwork you can keep,” he joked, tapping on the first two items, and Lucas chuckled tiredly. Zakk scanned the entire list and said, “Literally anything on here, I’m willing to do. Any of it.”

“Hmm,” Lucas said shortly.

“What can you let go of?”

“She wants me to pick five things.”

“Good. What can you let go of?” he repeated.

Silence.

Zakk pointed at the meal schedules line and suggested, “I can do this and make the grocery list since I’m already the one shopping. I can do the kitchen job lists, too; you can let me handle all the food stuff. Tell me what you want to eat and if you want any of the boys doing specific jobs, and I’ll make the lists and the schedule.”

“What if it’s not how I want it?” Lucas asked, voice tense.

“Then you say, ‘I want tacos on Friday night,’ and I’ll make it happen. But a lot of the time, I’ll just tell you what we’re having, and you’ll say, ‘Okay,’ and then you’ll eat it. And you won’t even have to think about it - you can just show up. You’ll be like one of the kids!”

“No.”

“No?”

Lucas shook his head. “We’re not doing that.”

“Okay, then...” He kept reading. “Why don’t you let me deal with payroll? I can handle that.”

“No, Zakk.”

“Why not?”

“Because. It’s really important.”

Zakk motioned to the list. “It’s all really important. And you’re trying to do all of it at once.”

“I’m not trying to do it. I’m doing it.”

“Please let me help. Look, driving! I can drive. I have a state-issued license and everything. It has my picture on it.”

“No. I like driving.”

“I know, but maybe sometimes I can have a turn. What if you take two of the kids to therapy, and I take two of the kids? Then it’s even. 50/50.”

“No, Zakk.”

“Why not?”

“Because I drive to appointments.”

“But I could take it off your plate! Just because you always have doesn’t-”

“Stop arguing with me,” Lucas warned.

“-mean that you always have to. I’m just as capable of driving as you are. And I really don’t mind sitting in a waiting room. I know you think I hate it, but I don’t care. I can entertain myself.”

“It’s not about that,” he sighed exasperatedly.

“Then what’s it about?”

“Nothing.”

“Then let me do it.”

“No!” Lucas spat, and he slammed his hand onto the counter, making Zakk jump. “You’re not taking them to appointments! I have to do that! Take whatever else you want, but not that one!”

Zakk was looking at Lucas with wide eyes. After a moment, it registered with Lucas that it was fear on Zakk’s face. Zakk was... afraid of him?

Without a word, Lucas got up and stalked toward the staircase. “Ruining your life, you’re ruining your life,” Lucas muttered urgently to himself. Zakk didn’t follow him, and again, he was glad. He was headed for the walk-in closet so he could shut himself inside someplace quiet and take a few minutes to calm down, but halfway between the door of the bedroom and the door of the closet, Lucas found himself sinking down to the floor. He sat there, hands pressed into the carpet, rocking slowly back and forth and trying to keep everything inside.

“Stop it, just stop it, stop,” he whispered. “Stop, stop, it’s fine, it was a long time ago...” But the hot tears had already welled up and were threatening to spill over, and Lucas couldn’t breathe, not all the way. Everything felt awful - the tears and the desperation and the regret and the physical pressure in his chest.

And that’s when Zakk opened the door.

“Lucas?” he called. Then - “Oh! Oh, hey... Hey... Are you crying?”

And then Zakk was beside him on the ground, and apologies were spilling desperately from Lucas’ mouth, and Zakk was soothing him, brushing a hand from his forehead up over the crown of his head over and over and over again.

“I can’t give up driving them to the appointments,” Lucas managed to say, his chest tight. “It has to be me.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to be there for them. If something happens, I have to-” He pulled in a big breath- “be there, I have to be there. It has to be me.”

“Why?” Zakk repeated.

The answer came in a whisper. “Because I know what it feels like.”

Lucas hated the silence that hung in the room. Zakk probably didn’t know what to say, but neither did Lucas.

He pulled away, crawled a few feet out of Zakk’s reach, and forced himself to keep talking. “I’m going to tell you now, okay? What I’ve been... not saying. Things will make more sense.”

Zakk moved so that he was cross-legged, and then he swallowed. “I’m ready.”

“Okay. I’m just gonna start talking.”

Zakk nodded.

“When I was in high school, my mom changed jobs, so we changed insurance companies. And we switched doctors.” Lucas’ voice was dull, as though he were reciting something that someone else had written. “My brother and sister were adults and already out of the house, and I was fourteen, so it was just me that went. I had to get a physical in the spring to be able to go to summer football practice. I was going to be a sophomore in the fall, and I thought for some reason that since I wasn’t a freshman anymore, I was going to get a decent chunk of playing time.”

Zakk smiled a little, and Lucas saw it out of the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t feel it.

“I was really excited to get my physical so I could get going. And I was right to be, because that was the summer that I met Chance.” He paused for several seconds before continuing. “Everything at the appointment was fine, but toward the end, my doctor - who was this guy probably in his 50s - asked if I’d ever had a-”

Lucas suddenly stopped talking. He felt sick to his stomach. He felt small.

“You’re doing great,” Zakk encouraged softly.

Lucas nodded. “Um, he asked if I’d had a ‘genital exam,’ he called it. At my last doctor’s office, I mean. Like, he was asking if I’d had one before, and I’d gotten the paper where they tell you how to check yourself for cancer, but not anything more than that. So I kind of laughed and said no, because for some reason I thought he was kidding. And he looked surprised and said that there were some things that I needed to look at, and that they should have started doing them when I turned twelve.”

Lucas wanted to look at Zakk, but he was too afraid. And he knew that if he stopped talking, he wouldn’t be able to start again, so he forced himself to keep going. “The way he explained it made sense,” Lucas said, his voice still emotionless but barely above a whisper, “so I let him touch me. And like I said, I was fourteen, so I got hard immediately. And he started, um.”

Lucas’ heart was pounding. He could hear his pulse in his ears, feel it in his fingertips.

“He started saying stuff like, ‘Excellent,’ and calling me, um... ‘nice little boy.’ And even then, I thought the ‘nice little boy’ thing was weird, but I just went along with it because I thought he was trying to make me more comfortable, I guess.” Lucas paused momentarily to deal silently with the flood of memories that were pouring back in. When he was ready, he continued.

“He never touched himself. I think that’s another reason I believed him so much. He was very professional - wore gloves and everything and seemed like he was kind of prodding around at first, and even now, I think he actually was. But when it seemed like he’d finished with that, instead of stopping, he started jerking me off. And I reacted - I kind of sat up and looked at him like, ‘what the hell,’ you know? But he said he just needed to make sure that everything ‘worked.’” Lucas shook his head in disgust.

“Of course, I didn’t last long at all, but he still seemed kind of happy. Pleased with me, I guess. But still very professional. After I finished, he threw his gloves away and made some notes on my chart - which I would love to read, by the way. I have no idea what he wrote. Um, but that was it. The only thing looking back that I realized was off was that he told me a couple times to stay quiet. He said it was because it was a pediatrician’s office and there were little kids around, but now...”

Lucas fell silent.

“Lucas, I am... so sorry,” Zakk said in a hushed tone.

He chuckled emptily. “I’m not done. That was when I was fourteen. I stayed at that practice with that doctor until I turned eighteen.”

“Oh, Lucas...”

“By the end of it, I was kind of looking forward to going to my appointments, you know? Because I knew I’d be able to get off or whatever.” He scoffed. “Into a fucking tissue, just like my brother said.” Lucas blinked. “The doctor kept the tissues. I forgot...”

“What?” Zakk asked, horror clear in his voice.

“Yeah, he put them in little sample containers and wrote my name on them. Wow. I forgot all about that. I wonder what he did with those.”

“Lucas,” Zakk whispered.

He shook his head. “It’s fine. It was a long time ago. Anyway, senior year, I had to leave early one day to go see that doctor, and I told Chance during break that I was leaving. It was just me and him, and we were sitting at the football field like we always did, and I said something like, ‘I have a love/hate relationship with going to the doctor.’ And he asked why, so I said, ‘The part where they jerk you off is so good but so awkward.’ I’ll never forget the look on his face.”

Zakk let out a shaky breath.

“He obviously knew that something was wrong, and for years, his reaction was the only solid clue I had that the discomfort I felt was justified. The doctor made so much sense when he explained it, you know? He made it feel necessary, and he re-explained it in full every time. It wasn’t until I was almost done with my undergrad degree that I figured it out. I was in a gen ed health class, and we were having a totally uncensored sex ed talk, and whoever was speaking talked about, like, what GPs do at an appointment as far as sexual health. Guys in the room were talking about their personal experiences with prostate exams and getting erections in front of nurses and stuff, and I almost raised my hand and said, ‘Well, my doctor jerked me off once or twice every year,’ but something stopped me, and I’m so glad it did.”

Lucas looked in Zakk’s general direction. “Sometimes I think I always knew it was wrong, and sometimes I think I had no idea. Maybe it’s both.” He shrugged. “But that’s why I take the kids everywhere they need to go. I know I’m not in there with them, so I can’t see what’s happening, but I like to think that me being there gives me some control. Like maybe people who would hurt them otherwise won’t if they see me. And I hope that if something does happen, they’ll tell me, because I don’t want them to go through the confusion that I did-”

His voice broke. Zakk immediately slid nearer to him but didn’t touch him.

“I’m still confused,” Lucas confessed. “It’s been twenty years, and I still don’t really understand. I just - I wish that I had reported it to somebody who could have stopped it. Because when I think about all the other kids that he must have manipulated and lied to and hurt...” His teeth clenched. “I tried to find him online a couple years ago, and I couldn’t, which hopefully means that he got busted. I hope he lost his license.”

“I hope he lost everything,” Zakk stated gravely.

Finally, Lucas met Zakk’s eyes. They shared a long look in silence.

“I’m sorry again for flipping out earlier,” Lucas said eventually. “I know I’ve been acting crazy for a long time, and I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I know I’ve been awful.”

Zakk nodded. “Well, now I understand why it was happening, so I’m not mad. We’ll talk about it later and get through it, okay? I love you so much.” He tipped his head, his eyes filling with tears. “And I am so glad that you opened up to me. I’m so proud of you. Thank you, baby, I know that took a lot of strength.”

Lucas tried to smile.

“Can I hug you?” Zakk pleaded.

“Only if I can hug you, too.”

Zakk slid forward, holding Lucas tightly. Lucas gave him a gentle hug in return and shut his eyes. As Zakk began to quietly sob against Lucas’ chest, Lucas exhaled.

“I’ve never said any of that out loud before,” he muttered, more to himself than to Zakk. Then he realized, “I’m so tired.”

“Of course you are.” Zakk pulled back, sniffled, and set his hand on Lucas’ cheek. “Do you want to lie down?”

He shook his head and leaned forward to rest on Zakk’s shoulder. “No, I want to stay here.” For some reason, the floor felt safe. Safer than lying down, which was what he’d been doing when-

His grip on Zakk tightened, and Zakk’s tightened in response. Lucas was surprised by how much it helped.

“Can someone talk to the kids about what’s normal at appointments and what’s not?” Lucas whispered. “I’ve thought about it for years, and I don’t want it to be one of us. I want it to be like a presentation.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Zakk kissed his hair. “Why don’t you let me figure out the logistics of that, hm?”

“No, I-”

“Let me have a turn, please,” Zakk said calmly. “I’ll find somebody good, and I’ll run them by you before I book them.”

“You’ll run them by me?” Lucas repeated, his exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Yep. But I’ll find them and book them. Hey, maybe I’ll find two good people and you can help me choose between them.”

“Okay,” Lucas whispered.

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Zakk held him even tighter. “Moon of my life,” he said quietly.

“My sun and stars,” Lucas echoed. With a heavy breath out, he let himself close his eyes, but only for a moment.

#lucas #zakk #lucas' trauma pt 2 #finally #sun and moon #tw

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modern-oedipus · 4 years

Text

Update: I vented (both to my journal and a trusted friend), made a therapist appointment (I can get one per month but the time has come), cleaned my room and came up with some useful ideas to help me on the following semester. The recent days have been tough for me but I am overcoming slowly. I’m grateful for everyone who respected this and helped me the best they could. Tomorrow I’m leaving for a (delayed) vacation. I’ll watch out for social distancing and hygiene as always. I have been worried and nearly depressed at the thought of online-college even though I am fully aware of the risks in-person education would bring. I’m not one to decide what my university is going to do, but I will get precautions to protect my mental and physical health. Of course there are things I can’t control, things unfortunate and horrifying and perhaps inevitable, like catching the virus and/or losing someone I love, dying, or being given permanent damage. This reminds me of the times when I was around 17 and there’d be attacks on Paris and I’d freak out. Anyway, this is a different threat, but it still leaves a trace even if I am not directly facing it. But... There are things I can and cannot control. It’s important to focus on the parts I can control, right? So that I can be the most ready for the worst case without constantly worrying over it. Overdosed anxiety is really useless. (Fun fact: I never thought I had chronic anxiety, but my therapist low-key called me out once saying that I tend to have anxiety, even though she cannot fully diagnose me with it since my “symptoms” are not severe enough, but that they could become a problem if I didn’t keep them in check.) But well, how can’t you be anxious in this time and age? I think it’s humanly to be anxious, just... It’s just as humanly as being angry or bitter or salty. What matters is to acknowledge that anxiety and process it healthily without making it toxic for me or people around me. So let me just vent this: THIS IS SO FUCKED UP. I fucking hate this, I’m so tired of always trying to “protect” my mental health, like, the moment I got my personal problems together, covid19 started. My precious college experience, of whom I lost 1.5 years due depression, got cancelled. Outdoors got cancelled. We don’t know what this virus is or how long I can’t go to the events (congresses, stage plays, concerts, protests, everything... that makes me feel alive and connected and happy and hype) or whether this covid leaves a permanent damage. My parents fucking divorced, and even though the divorce itself hasn’t been traumatic for me I still... switch houses... it’s just... weird. I miss having my family together. I miss doing the things I love, going out, laying on the grasses in front of the faculty with my Starbucks cup and chatting to my two best friends about anything and everything, going to classes, leaving classes, my best friend dragging me to the music faculty so I can listen and record him playing piano, or that we can go out for partying, or we can hit to gym, or we can stay for a coffee chat with everyone, or go to our cheesy dining hall lunches, join to 6 pm events, stay in library to rush a homework together, run to the classroom as we repeat out the enzyme names loud because we just have a quiz, wearing our lab coats and taking silly pics, pretending we get the next Nobel prize as we go to lab, visiting the student’s office in my newspaper, standing on the line of orientation and welcoming the freshmen with giant pics and convincing them to join our club, dancing, petting campus dogs, buying even more Starbucks, I just... I miss everything so much. This is my final year and what if I can never get to experience such a beautiful experience again? What if it is ruthlessly stripped from me despite the crazy tuition fee I pay for online fucking classes? Who on their right mind wants to do online college? It’s the best college here too, like... It ain’t even a bad college, so I can confidently say that I’m missing out A LOT. I know it is like this worldwide but... It doesn’t make my pain any less. And I know this is not a “big” problem compared to getting the virus, but this is severely impacting my mental health so even if this is not a “big” problem, this is valid and serious enough to drive me miserable, which means I need to talk about it. I miss everything so much. It’s just. JUST when I’m out of depression and feeling alive... That I’m homestuck.

I had so many chances that I wasted half of it in my freshman year because I was suicidal. Now I am full of life, but home stuck, and it just hurts, okay? It fucking hurts. Even if I go study another major after this (I considered this since I studied a stem major but I really want some psychology/philosophy/media related things additionally) I will be, idk, 22? It won’t feel the same as being 21. No one can give me the 2020 back. I’m honestly just... so, so, so, so, SO sad. This is overwhelming. This much of online education is too much. And I know that even if we go to campus it’s not the same because we have to wear masks and stay split and cancel big events (which, believe me, I most religiously follow, the virus is no joke and I never let my guard down even for a second) so it won’t be the same. Just... why... why... why... If this virus really came because some guy ate a rat in China, then...

On the other side, as sad and horrified as I feel, I don’t want to “waste” my time just because it’s “online”. I want to make the most of my time. I want to enjoy whatever I have, I just need to stop obsessing over “why...” and “what if...”s. I need to accept... that life is like this. But god, I guess that’s something for therapy because I’m honestly bad at accepting things which are genuinely unfair to me. Worse since this unfairness is not something that can be just “solved”. It’s not like a friendship conflict. It’s a bloody pandemic, what can I do? Oh, right, speaking of what I can do, I’ve actually come up with a few solutions. They don’t “solve” the issue but they can decrease the damage enough that I can go on my day to day life at peace.

But I’ll not talk about the solutions here, I just wanted to vent. I normally don’t post this type of vent here (the miserable ones) but since I refuse to write anyone in dm-s right now, I thought you could read it if you’re worried. I’m sorry but I still don’t want to talk to anyone (except those who are excluded), so. Anyway, take care! 2020 is crazy but if we can get through this year we can probably get through many other challenges like they’re little snacks! Love you all!

#nila stuff #update #vent #tw #college #online college #online classes

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beerecordings · 4 years

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I was thinking about that Therapy AU (ish. thing. question mark?) that you brainstormed a few months back, and I find myself wondering—which of the boys realized “oh hey, I should probably see a therapist” first? And what was the impetus? (Jackie. I’m asking about Jackie. I want to know the story behind how Jackie found his Alderian/Adlerian duder and why he sprung for it. Also the thing about who came first, but Jackie. My boy. Im lov him)

lol yeah you’re right it’s not so much an au as something that i’d like to be canon in just about every universe i come up with lollll. but yeah hm…

I think Henrik goes to see a therapist first because he’s been through literal hell and there’s no way he can handle any of this without professional help. and everybody knows that, you know, like… it’s easier to justify some reasons to go than others. so even though everybody probably needs it they’re all here like “oh GEEZ someone else has had it SO MUCH WORSE than me so HE’S going to therapy” and they all end up ganging up on Henrik with their love and support like “yeah bud you need to see somebody please we’re worried about you!!” and it’s hard to argue when he’s both physically and mentally exhausted so he just ends up letting them take him. he doesn’t have his existentialist therapist at first, that’s too intensive for his mental energy at the time, but he just sees a nice calm therapist who really helps him deal with some of the outstanding issues and find ways to hold on when he’s really bad off. and the others are all so excited and supportive but for some reason when he recommends they try it too, they seem to think he’s joking?

then Chase gets court-ordered to therapy and he’s like “FUCK fine!!” and it makes him sob his heart out every week and he feels so dumb and weak and stupid for like two months before he starts to come around to it. and it’s Henrik who really convinces him that it’s okay, and then eventually it actually starts to help?? and he gets to see the kids again!!! ahh!!! it’s a good time! he and Henrik start scheduling their appointments at the same time so they can get lunch together first and then walk home together too.

JJ gets pressured by the family to join them after he starts getting into some really bad habits like getting into fights and tearing his fists open beating up his punching bag and staring at his razor for long enough that Henrik gets scared and practically drags him there himself (he would not go but he hates to see Henrik so nervous and upset). Marvin has a complete breakdown after years of being the family tough guy without crying once in front of the others and they all get freaked out and ask him to go see somebody for their sake if nothing else (he would not go but when his little brothers look at him like that) and then Jackie is there like “good job guys! I’ll just be over here! love you! :)”

cause the thing is Marvin had convinced himself that he has to be tough enough to deal with everything he goes through in silence, but Jackie is WORSE because he’s just convinced himself he doesn’t have anything to deal with. He’s the big brother, first of all, so he just doesn’t have time for that, and he’s a hero, so nothing’s going to get to him anyway, of course. and then he just hasn’t been through as much as the others, right? Henrik and JJ with Anti, and Chase with his family, and his poor Marv must have been dealing with so much so quietly for so long, and if Jackie had just been a better brother to him he wouldn’t have HAD to do that, he wouldn’t have had to hide anything from anyone, he’d come to Jackie instead of hiding his problems but he doesn’t because he doesn’t trust him enough and that’s because of Jackie’s failures and ALL OF THIS IS JACKIE’S FAULT -

yeah, no, no problems! he’s good! he’s cruising! He doesn’t have it that bad he’s fine! he only struggles sometimes cause he’s a baby, right? he should toughen up, after all he heard Henrik sobbing last night and he has it so much worse, he’s been through so much, Jackie needs to look like everything’s okay so Henrik feels safe and calm. and then everything will be better and everything will be fine. once his brothers are fine, he’ll be fine.

and then his brothers are fine.

he stops, pauses, looks around.

Chase is out with the kids, sober for a year straight. JJ’s just got a new job and he seems happy and well-adjusted. Henrik’s showing his scars without freaking out and has been dealing with his panic attacks well. Marvin admits he had a bad day but says he’s going to make tomorrow a better one! Jackie’s never heard him say anything like that in his life and he seems to mean it, what the hell is happening?

all his brothers are fine and he’s still not… what is happening…. if everyone’s okay why does he still feel so bad about himself?

The others want to go to family therapy now. Apparently JJ’s therapist keeps recommending it because so many of his issues come back to worrying about upsetting the others, and then Marvin’s therapist agrees, and they’re all pretty comfy with therapy by now, and they want to go, they want to try it. and of course he’s not going to turn them down!! yeah, they need him to be the calm big brother in the room, keeping everything together, making sure they’re all safe? of course! he’ll come and support them all!! he’s a little bit terrified at the very prospect but they need this so he’ll do it, he can do it! for their sake. if it’s for their sake it’s okay, it’s permissible, and it’s not weak because it’s not for him, it’s for them.

and then they get in there and it’s so much messier than he expected. first of all the therapist right away goes “so everyone is seeing a therapist personally but you, Jackie” and he goes hot red and feels all his brothers looking at him and makes up something about not needing that and he sees Henrik turn away from him when he says it. and then she keeps trying to draw him into it and he hates that, this wasn’t what he planned, he just wanted to sit here and tell everyone they were doing great!! and then, oh, hell, everything is coming out. everything is coming bleeding out of his brothers and it’s messy and it’s ugly and he’s not a bystander, he’s a part of it, they even say his name sometimes, they even seem to accuse him sometimes. it’s not what he expected, it’s not at all what he expected, it’s not Chase going “I’m sad sometimes when you’re sad Marvin” and Marvin going “oh no I’m sad when you’re sad let’s work on this :’((” it’s like Jameson saying “I can’t tell any of you ANYTHING because half the time you treat me like an infant and the other half of the time you get so upset that even though I want to confide in you I can’t because I know it’ll send you all spiraling, I feel like I’m not allowed to be fucking suicidal but I am and I can’t trust any of you to deal with me - ” and then before he knows it Jackie is fucking sobbing in the therapy room so hard they all have to be done for the day and JJ is sitting there staring at him like he’s just proven his point and the guilt comes crashing down and he feels like he’s dying and he REFUSES to go back next week.

they’re all upset and JJ won’t talk to him. he WON’T go back to that, that was so horrible and humiliating, he’s not doing that again, he’s NEVER trying therapy again.

his brothers go to family therapy without him. that’s fine. that’s good. they’re allowed to. he waits for things to go back to normal.

they don’t.

JJ never talks to him anymore, not about the things that matter. He says there’s no bad blood between them and most likely that’s true, but the fact is he just doesn’t trust him. can’t confide in him. Jackie starts to feel sick every time they’re together, wondering if his baby brother is suicidal right now and just hiding it from him, sitting there doing his embroidery with a movie playing on the couch, thinking about killing himself. Jackie’s starting to get upset more often. Jackie’s starting to crumble. everyone is fine, for the most part. he doesn’t want to upset that. doesn’t want to put the burden of himself on their shoulders. he’s being such a fucking baby. why is he crying himself to sleep again every night? why did he have to go hide in the bathroom for five minutes at the restaurant yesterday because someone said the word antifreeze? why does Chase teasing him about taking the last piece of cake make him want to die so badly? why isn’t he ever happy anymore? Marvin asks him if he wants to go to the arcade and he doesn’t, he isn’t up for it. energy’s gone. hasn’t had much for a long time but he could bury the exhaustion from their sight and that was all that matters. Jamie accidentally cuts his thumb one day in the kitchen and Jackie wants in and sees the blood dripping onto his wrist and he loses it, he loses it, he’s screaming, he’s shouting at JJ, and Jameson just stands there and takes it, Jameson stands there staring at him when everybody else is shouting at Jackie to cut it out, stop it, what the hell Jackie? Jamie is still standing there in silence when Jackie has a full meltdown on the kitchen floor, followed promptly by a miserable, silent, exhausted shutdown that lasts for two days afterwards.

he goes back to family therapy. it isn’t really working. he’s really tired and sad and every time someone tries to confront him about an issue in their family he might be involved in he immediately starts crying and apologizing again and again, taking all the blame on his shoulders, promising them they didn’t do anything wrong even if they did, not accepting comfort or apologies from any of them, everything’s his fault, he promises he’ll fix it, he’ll never go out on patrol again if that’s what they want. and it’s so uncomfortable for everyone and soon family therapy starts turning into “tip-toeing around Jackie while Jackie feels miserable and gets worse” and their therapist tells them this isn’t working anymore.

You need to go to a therapist, they start telling him.

I’ve been going with you all the time, he says.

No, they say, you need to go to a therapist.

Oh.

Well, he can’t do that.

Well, why not? Huh?

Because he just can’t.

Because that’s not who he is.

Why isn’t it who he is?

Jackie, why?

Jackie, say something, say anything.

Why?

Because he’s not allowed to be that. He’s not allowed to need help. He’s got to keep them safe - you don’t - I do!

fuck’s sake, Jackie. You can’t keep doing this anymore. You just can’t.

I know, he says. I know.

but he won’t go even when it’s all sitting out in the open and everyone’s staring at him like they’re waiting for him to shatter into glass because the family therapist was not what he needed and he’s scared of the questions and the feeling of being torn apart and the conflict and the sadness and he thinks all therapy’s like that and it’s not for him and he won’t go. and then one day sweet little brother number three comes and lays down with him and hugs him real tight and puts himself right there in Jackie’s arms so his big brother gets to hold him and push their heads together and hear his heartbeat and feel him rubbing at his shoulder. and Chase has probably waited for a soft calm night to tell him this but there’s this really cool thing his therapist recommended for Jackie’s sake where you don’t have to talk at all in therapy if you don’t want to. they just give you this great sand and you can run your hands all over it and then they get all these like toys and models and things out and they ask you questions like “tell me about a time when you were happy” and you just have to build, man, and work from there. and he knows he’s been so sad and tired lately and he wants him to try it because he loves him and didn’t Jackie used to try and convince him to go too?

and you wouldn’t see me as a failure if i went? and you wouldn’t think you had to take care of me? and it wouldn’t be weird for you? and you wouldn’t make fun of me for it? and nobody would ask me too many questions? and i could just build?

and Chase gives him a lot of no’s and one good solid yes, yeah, bud, you can just build, and Jackie goes two weeks later and sits down with the sand and the toys in front of him and just lets it all go and, in plastic houses and little figurines that remind him of his family and the cool soothing weight of the sand in his hands, he tells the truth at last, without ever speaking once.

plus his therapist is really funny and sweet and positive and warm with him. and she keeps going “just between you and me” and he grins and knows he can tell her anything and it doesn’t have to come back and hurt his brothers at all if he doesn’t want it to, he can even say Forbidden Horrible things like “it makes me angry when he does this” or “I wanted to kill that man that night and it scared me how strong I was” and “sometimes I think I’m just as much a mistake as Anti was” and slowly, slowly, they start to work on it. and he learns to apologize respectfully and fairly, without being accidentally manipulative, and he learns to take care of them in a way that he couldn’t before, and he learns that he’s important too, and needed and loved, even if he isn’t strong or positive or perfect every day of every year.

they start going back to family therapy once he’s ready. they keep getting more and more tools to help them put themselves and each other back together again. it’s a good fit after all.

#suicidal ideation tw #panic attack tw #distress tw #but it ends sweet right?#he's a good boy

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